A Question of Faith
by Daevanus
Summary: COMPLETE A freelance demon hunter stumbles upon information as to the goal of The Necromancer, a particularly evasive man of great evil. Bad news for an incarcerated Slayer...
1. About a Girl

__

Disclaimer: Don't own them, but wish I did. What can I say, 'cept this is just a lark, and for fun and amusement only. I do own Michael, a character loosely based off of… I'm not sure anymore. I've used him in short stories I've written before.

Rating: I'm only gonna explain this once. It's rated R for Violence, Language, Adult Situations. Send the kids to bed, or they may end up like me....

A/N: I missed the better part of the last two seasons, so I'm working off of what I know. Tara's dead, Anya's gone (I'm not sure how to work that into my story... yet...) and Spike and Buffy are still working through there 'little' problems. Willow **did **almost end the world, but Spike returned shortly after leaving. That's his story to tell, and he will... eventually. 

A/N+1: Gotta have Faith, that's my motto. I've re-vamped this story, just touch-ups here and there, really, and again. Enjoy, read, and review… please?

Title: A Foo Fighters song, 'About a Girl'. Just borrowing the line. Don't own it.

*****

The light rain was cold against his skin, but the mild discomfort was far from his mind. Small things like that are easily ignored when you're fighting for your life, especially against four vampires. Ignoring the clinging fabric of his drenched shirt, the weight of his water logged jeans, the small squishing noises of his soaked boots, all added to the discomfort that was tied in a small knot in the back of his mind.

Michael grunted as a glancing blow caught his jaw, stunning him. He would have died then, or half a dozen other times that night, if the vampires fought together. Instead their haste and independent actions allowed him the time to stumble farther into the alley and shake his head, regaining his focus.

Physically, he was impressive. At six foot five and two hundred ten pounds, he was taller than most, yet he moved with a fluid grace uncommon to men his size. His dark hair hung, wet and limp, to his shoulders. The two-day beard gave him a haggard appearance; his dark hazel eyes seemed tired as he ducked and blocked the inhumanly fast attacks.

One vampire over-extended his punch, giving Michael the chance he needed to turn the fight in his favor. Grabbing the vampire's wrist and pulling it out wide, he lashed out with his left foot, sending the vampire into a pile of broken pallets. Luck favored him here, as a jagged beam pierced the vampire's heart, destroying it mid-scream.

Using his off-balance stance, he sprawled on the ground, avoiding the conflux of claws that would have shredded him. Rolling quickly, he caused a vampire to crash to the ground. They were a tangle of limbs, until Michael managed to get his stake out of his sleeve and into the vampire's heart. Two down…

Without thought he blocked the other attacks and calmly rose to his feet. With the practiced moves of a master, he flowed through blocks and counters. His right heel caught one vampire on the knee, snapping it loudly. Following with a powerful elbow, he cracked the other vampire's ribs, then shattered it's arm almost casually. His left foot caught the first vampire's other leg, breaking it mid-thigh. Broken bones wouldn't kill them, but they were still broken bones, painful and disabling.

Michael paced just out of the vampires collective reach, his breathing and heart rate returning to normal. The two vampires struggled to regain some semblance of dignity as they watched him helplessly, for even vampiric regeneration required some time.

"What are they after?" he asked calmly, the stake held easily in his right hand.

"We don't know what your talkin-" the first was cut off as the stake found his heart in an instant.

"I don't want to die," the last whined pitifully.

"Too late for that," Michael said calmly. "I know who you work for. I just want to know what you're after."

"Alright," he continued pitifully. "It's this girl, Faith, she's," one final time the stake sunk into undead flesh in that dark ally. Michael stood alone, again in silence with only the dead until his own voice propelled him down the ally.

"Fucking Slayers."

*****


	2. Jailhouse Rock

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

Title: Borrowed the title from The King… And no, I don't think Elvis is still alive. He may be a vampire, however….. *grins*

*****

Faith was alone in her cell, removed from the general noise of the prison, or 'correctional facility' as per the popular term. The guards knew her rap sheet, had to know it. She was dangerous. A cold-blooded killer. Crazy. Simply put, but not so simply understood.

She had been quiet since being moved to this facility outside the city limits of LA. She never gave the guards a problem, and stayed to herself. Didn't speak to anyone save a word of thanks, with the exception of a dark haired young man with a tragic air. He visited her at the end of the allotted time, one every two weeks or so. They talked in hushed tones, occasionally smiling, mostly just talking.

The silence wasn't exceptional this evening, and Faith slid into her thoughts as she usually did. She wasn't a shrink, but she did know she had problems. It seemed right that she try to work them out herself. After all, she was the only one who knew all of the problems, even if only in her own head.

Buffy, Xander, Willow, Giles. Family, friends, lovers, enemies. Her mother, who faded while she was still young. Her father, abusive and always touching her. The older boy next door, when she was fourteen, who was her first. Her calling to the duties of a Slayer. Her first hunt, her first kill. Her loss of direction, an ironic loss of faith. She hadn't been sure who she was, still didn't know. At least now she had an idea of who she wasn't. 

The first screams drifted to her cell, shaking her from the battle with her inner demons. It happened sometimes, even when the inmates were locked in the single or double cells. These were different, and the feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then, the screams made sense. The pain, fear… and finality. Death.

She knew instinctively that her solace was done. The chance to heal, to regroup, was over. The world wouldn't let her rest forever. Her heightened slayer senses knew the killers for what they were, and what that meant for her.

Vampires stalked the halls, killing wantonly. Guard and inmate alike were torn limb from limb, the pools of blood spreading chaotically across the once clean concrete floor. After about two hours they gathered in front of Faith's cell, looking hungrily at the caged Slayer.

"This was easy," a biker by his leather jacket and pants. "Guess we could have taken our time with the rest."

"Thinking too far ahead," Faith said. "I'm not dead yet."

"But you are behind bars, without any wood," a petite redhead laughed, her otherwise pretty face horrific in vampirism.

The biker walked over to the cell door while the rest, a neat half dozen, watched hungrily. Faith backed into the middle of the cell, giving her as much room to defend herself as possible. The odds were definitely not good.

"Guess you haven't heard I'm retired," Faith said, her voice calm and clear in spite of the small, gnawing fear in her chest.

"Your blood still has power," the redhead said as the biker continued to work on the lock. "The other slayer is surrounded by friends, who know what we are. You, on the other hand, are…"

"Completely alone," Faith finished quietly.

"Yes," the redhead hissed, both in confirmation and pleasure as the biker finally shoved open the door to her cell. "Take her alive. Hurt her, but she has to be alive."

"Fine," Faith said, "Let's play." She set herself in a relaxed stance as three of the vampires moved into the cell, right by the door. They stood there for barely a second, sizing her up, before all hell broke loose.

The three vampires outside the cell never saw him approach, and the first two never saw who killed them. Twice the blade flashed in the dim light, and two vampires burst into ash at almost the same instant. The redhead, barely comprehending the threat, caught a bare glimpse of the man before the flash of steel removed head from shoulders.

Faith saw him approach, a tall, lean man wielding a sword and dressed in black. He threw a wooden stake at her even as he brought his sword around to take down the first vampire. Faith was glad for the reassuring feel of the wood in her hand as the three vampires moved against her, unaware that there was another threat outside the cell.

Movements and reflexes she thought were forgotten during her incarceration came back suddenly and effectively. The first vampire, the biker, opened his eyes in shock as she slid under his roundhouse and pierced his heart. His body burst into dust as his two allies over-reached the slayer. The second vampire died from a stake through the back, realizing his mistake a second too late.

The third vampire was a different story. She had fought a slayer in her long past, and knew not to underestimate the slayer in spite of the disadvantage. She followed her original attack, finding herself facing the slayer as her second ally died. Without thought, she lashed out with her claws, scoring wickedly from the slayer's left shoulder to the right side of her ribs, fairly shredding the thin prison uniform.

Faith stumbled backwards, out of the cell, feigning more pain than she felt, but not by much. The vampire followed her out of the cell, and was genuinely surprised when the man brought his sword around evenly, severing her head before the shock truly registered.

"Michael," the man said, sheathing the sword at his hip.

"Faith," she answered, handing the stake back to him.

"Keep it," he said as he stripped his shirt off and handing it to her. "You might want to cover up, it's kinda cold out there."

Laughing softly to herself, she complied with his suggestion, and then looked at him seriously for the first time. It had been quite some time since she had seen a man without his shirt on, and this one was looking pretty good. Faint scars crisscrossed his chest, and a fresh one stood against his slightly tanned side. All in all, not a bad view. Too bad he seemed to be all business.

"We've got to get out of here," he said after a moment. "You have anything here?"

"Nothing important," she answered, thinking of the impersonal items still in the cell. "Why are you helping me?"

"It's not by choice, slayer. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"

"I see." They began walking out of the prison, barely noticing the dead that were scattered, mostly in pieces, throughout the halls. "Who?"

Michael took a few moments, apparently thinking about the answer to her question. He hadn't answered her by the time they walked out of the prison and through the main gate. His car, a metallic blue Mustang, was still running right outside the gate.

"A very bad man," he finally answered as he slid his sheathed blade in the back. "One who, for some reason, wants you."

"Good enough for now," she said, easing into the soft leather seat. Sighing, she looked over at him. "I'll need something better when we get to where-ever we're going."

"A hotel I'm staying at," he said as he pulled away from the now-empty prison. "I'm guessing you want to clean up, and get into something that doesn't scream 'fugitive'."

"Wake me when we get there," she said as she drifted off to sleep.


	3. Between Angels and Insects

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes. I've included both sides of the phone conversations, mostly for my own sanity.

Title: 'Between Angels and Insects' is a Papa Roach song. Don't own it, either.

*****

Michael glanced over at the slayer every few minutes, unable to stop himself. She wasn't the 'bad girl' he was expecting after the stories and reports he had heard, and she was much more attractive than the other slayer, that Summers woman. Summers looked small, fragile, and annoyingly angelic. Faith seemed… tougher, more suited to the world she found herself in. 

He had seen Summers during the Acathala incident. He wasn't impressed, at all. She was to self-centered, worried too much about herself. Her childishness almost ended the world.

Then again, Faith wasn't without her own mistakes. The whole Ascension deal, and her wrong doings…

He sighed as he pulled into the back parking lot of the hotel he had a room at. His money, and his 'friends', gave him a top floor suite, and no questions. Tonight, he was definitely grateful for the latter. 

Waking Faith with a light tap on the shoulder, he escorted her quietly to the elevator and slid his room key down the panel. The elevator began it's gently ascent while Faith was still slightly gaping at her surroundings.

"Nice," she said, the awe in her voice easily recognizable. "I thought we were going to a motel, or a Holiday Inn at best."

"There are benefits to getting paid for this work," he said with a slight laugh. "I'm still surprised that the Council doesn't take care of its people better."

"Remind me to write them a letter."

*****

Faith was pleasantly surprised by the suite, and nearly shouted for joy when she saw the large bathroom and bedroom. Closing the door to the bathroom, she filled the tub with hot water, stripped, and slowly lowered herself into the relaxing water. Letting herself relax for the first time in what seemed like forever, she was drifting close to sleep when she heard the phone ring, and Michael answer it.

"Mike."

Pause. _You find what they were after?_

"One of the slayers, apparently. Wasn't able to find out why."

Pause. _Why not?_

"Hard to ask piles of dust anything."

Longer pause. _Where are the slayers right now? I know the Summers girl is still in Sunnydale, and her watcher should be made aware of the threat. The other one…._

"Faith."

Pause. _She's in prison near you right now._

"Not anymore."

Brief pause. _What?_

"She's with me right now. The goons were going after her tonight, so I had to act."

Long pause. _We'll send someone to pick her up in the morning. She's dangerous, but we should be able to keep her safe and still hold her. Then you can go keep an eye on the other slayer…_

"Not happening. Send Brian to Sunnydale, if it's necessary. The goons thought Summers was too hard of a target.

Pause. _You can't keep Faith with you._

"I'm not going to let you lock her up again."

Pause. _You don't know what she's capable of._

"I know what she'll do if you try and take her again. She's free right now, and will most likely want to stay that way."

Pause. _Suggestions?_

"I'll keep her with me, and go from there. The first sign that she's unstable, or still… wrong, I'll send for back up. Isn't Angelus, sorry, Angel in LA still?"

Pause. _True. I think that having a slayer with you could only help matters. Are you sure she won't hurt you?_

"No."

Pause. _Keep your head, Michael. This Necromancer you're chasing is a nasty piece of work… and so was, or maybe is, Faith._

"I'll keep that in mind."

Pause. _Don't get yourself killed. Your mother would skin everyone involved alive if you don't make it home in one piece._

"She knows the risk of what I do as much as I do."

Pause. _I'll call in a few days. Cell phone or room phone?_

"Try the room, and wait a day if I don't answer that before you try the cell."

Pause. _Good hunting._

"As always."

The click of the phone being set down wasn't lost on Faith. She felt as if a burden was lifted from her shoulders, only to have another set down upon her. 

Some time later, when the water began to turn cold, Faith rose and began to dry herself off. Pulling the terrycloth robe around her, she opened the door and walked into the living room.

Michael rose and stretched as she sat down on the loveseat across from him. Yawning slightly he turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Shower," he said over his shoulder. "You weren't the only one who needed to clean up after tonight."

"Hey!" she shouted in mock indignation as he shut the door to the bathroom. Seconds later, she could hear the shower running.

*****

Despite the shower, Michael could hear her talking on the phone. He stuck his head out of the spray of water to hear whom she was talking to.

"Hey, Angel. It's Faith."

Pause_. What's wrong?_

"Bit of a problem down at the prison. Vampires."

Pause. _Are you all right?_

"A little hurt, but nothing a night's sleep won't fix."

Pause. _You're out again._

"Yes."

Pause. _Where are you?_

"Can't tell you. I've got some business to handle."

Pause. _Faith…_

"Angel, we both knew I wouldn't be able to hid forever. Someone saved my life tonight, and I intend to help him."

Pause. _Why's that Faith?_

"'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"

Smiling to himself, Michael stuck his head under the water again and finished his shower, not needing to eavesdrop any longer.

*****

Faith's conversation lasted a little longer.

_"You think you can trust this guy?"_

"Actually, I do. He seems to be a nice guy."

_"Be careful Faith. You haven't been around many people lately."_

"I still remember that most people don't run around swinging a sword, killing vampires, or charging into a prison that more resembled a slaughterhouse. I'll bring him by to see you."

_"Promise?"_

"Yes. I'll bring him by tomorrow night."

_"Might be a little easier if I came to you. Cordielia most likely won't be happy to see you, not to mention my other friends."_

"I understand. I'll call you tomorrow."

Faith laid the phone down and turned to face Michael as he walked into the room, wearing only gym shorts and drying his hair with a towel. She smiled softly as he moved within arm's reach.

"What did you tell him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Who?" she asked, her voice matching his for volume.

"Angel."

"Just what happened," she replied without hesitation. "I said we'd meet him tomorrow and talk. He's trying to look out for me."

"Alright," Michael said after a moment. "We should get some rest, and we'll discuss the situation tomorrow over some food."

Michael paused for a moment, looking at her. His eyes, as dark as hers, were searching for something, perhaps within. Finally, he turned, and gestured towards the only bed.

"Go ahead, I'll take the couch." He said, his voice rising closer to a normal tone.

Faith paused for a moment before walking into the bedroom, where she paused again by the door.

"Michael?"

"Yes?" he said, raising himself on his elbows to look at her over the back of the couch.

"We can share the bed," She said softly. "I don't feel like sleeping alone tonight."

"Faith…" he began before she raised her hand.

"Just… hold me tonight. Please?"

Michael was on his feet before conscience thought could form. He turned off the lights while Faith climbed into the bed, and carefully did the same in the almost perfect dark. He could feel her curl up next to him, her head resting on his chest and her leg thrown over both of his. Within moments, she was sleeping soundly.

As Michael drifted of into sleep as well, he realized that she was naked next to him, but dismissed that thought quickly. She just wanted to be held.

***** 

Faith woke first, as the gentle light of the midmorning sun peeked around the heavy curtains in the room. Pulling away from Michael carefully, she rose from the bed and put the bathrobe back on. She had been surprised last night when he didn't try to touch her. Faith wasn't used to men who could ignore their instincts, but was glad for it last night. 

Sitting on the couch, she turned on the TV and began scanning the news channels. She was never really one to sit and watch the boring headlines or stock markets, but since she had been in prison, she had heard very little about the world outside, mainly by choice.

Michael padded out of the bedroom half an hour later, his hair in as much disarray as her own, and his eyes barely focused.

"Morning," Faith said cheerfully, to which Michael answered with a snort.

"I take it you're not a morning person?" she asked sweetly.

"Something you slayers tend to take for granted," Michael muttered, "is that most people need more than an hour or two of sleep."

"Another vaunted slayer power that has been ignored over the ages," she said with a smirk.

Michael huffed again as he shuffled over to the bathroom. "Call room service, and have them bring some food up. They already have my order, get what you want."

Still smiling, she picked the phone up as he closed the door to the bathroom. Room service did have his order, and she added a few things that she hadn't enjoyed since she lived with Buffy.

Michael came out of the bathroom moments before the food arrived. Looking much more awake with a clean shave and cloths, he answered the door and rolled the tray before the couch.

They ate in companionable silence, Faith because she was enjoying the food and Michael because he was thinking about her. They finished twenty minutes later, and Michael rolled the tray to the hall, where one of the employees would take care of it.

"What do we do today?" she asked, when he sat beside her.

"There's a shirt of mine hanging behind the bathroom door, and a pair of sweats. Wear your sneakers, so we can at least go get you some better things to wear."

"I don't have any money," Faith said, even though she already suspected his answer.

"Don't worry about it," he said, failing to disappoint her.


	4. Doing my Thang

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N +1: I'm working up the nerve for a session of 'Bash Peaches', starring Spike. Just not sure when it'll making an appearance in this fic….

Title: Not sure if someone owns it, but I've heard this line before, so…. Don't own it.

****

It was almost seven in the evening when they got back to the hotel room, carrying quite a few bags and three boxes. Michael let her have a free hand, and Faith spent a fair amount of money buying the clothing. Michael was just surprised that it had taken this long.

"I thought you knew what it was like shopping with a woman," Faith said, laughing, as he put the bags on the bed and walked to the couch.

"I'd heard the horror stories," he allowed, "but they pale in comparison to the actual terror."

"Quiet you," she was grinning as she dug through one of the bags. "I'm going to take a shower before we give Angel a call."

"I'll call him while you're showering," Michael said from the couch. "I know the area a little better."

"You know the number?" Faith asked, stopping by the bathroom door.

"Yes." he replied, "It was the last number dialed out today."

"Ah… redial." she said, closing the bathroom door behind her. As soon as the shower began to run, Michael picked the phone up and hit redial.

_"Angel Investigations, how can we help you?" _It was a young woman's voice, strong and confident.

"Yes, this is Michael. I'm returning a call from Angel."

_"He's a bit busy right now, can I help you with anything?"_

"Tell him it's about his dinner reservations for tonight at Jennes's over on Fourth and Harrison. Tell him that we have faith he'll be in before too long, and we'll hold his table for him."

_"Okay…" _she hung up abruptly, making Michael wonder if the message would get through. He was still sitting on the couch when Faith came out of the shower wearing only a towel. She walked into the bedroom and began looking through some bags.

Michael barely heard her say anything, distracted as he was by her shapely body so barely covered. The towel wasn't very long, and just barely hung past the curve of her backside. She seemed not to notice his attentions, and continued to search for the bags, bending over and giving Michael a full view of what the towel was covering. Too soon for his liking, she found what she was looking for, and walked back to the bathroom, not noticing his hungry glances.

"Fucking slayers," Michael cursed under his breath. But his words had no feeling behind them, save for the groan of a man completely aroused.

Faith leaned up against the bathroom door, her hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter that threatened to burst out of her. It was too much fun playing with him like this, and his eyes had nearly popped out of his head when she bent over. With a wide smile, she got dressed.

Michael glanced at her when she finally walked out. Her black halter top was barely enough for decency, while the jeans she wore hung low on her hips and hugged her curves tightly. He noticed the mischief in her eyes, and the sway of her hips as she walked to the couch and sat down beside him.

"I just love taking hot showers," she said huskily as she leaned her head on his shoulders. "Just the heat, and the water…"

"I prefer cold showers," Michael said, his voice rough. "But enough of that. We need to go wait for Angel."

*****

Jennes's was a small Irish tavern right in the middle of a rough neighborhood. During the day, it was a pretty quiet place, and at night it was little different. The food was good, as was the beer.

Faith and Michael sat towards the back of the tavern, where they would be able to see everyone who walked in. They ordered food and waited patiently for Angel. He didn't disappoint they, arriving an hour after they sat down.

"You could have picked a place that was a little easier to find," the vampire said, his frown the only sign of his disapproval of the place.

"Nice quiet meeting place," Michael said, pushing the last of his meal off to the side. "Have a seat, look like you're relaxing."

"No thanks," he replied quickly. "I have to get back to work as soon as possible. We've been dealing with something pretty odd."

"We'll help," Faith said, already standing.

"No," Angel said. "I can handle this."

"You're turning down two extra pairs of hands?" Faith said. "You do need help, and we're offering."

"She's got a point," Michael said. "Besides, we do need to talk."

"Fine," he said. "Follow me."

*****

They followed his convertible for a good half hour before he stopped in front of a high rise apartment building. They all got out and looked to the roof, some forty stories above them. Dark shapes could be made out circling the upper part of the building. Now and then, a small flash of greenish light would wink in and out.

"Faith," Michael said quietly. "Take my car, go back to the room."

"Why?" she asked quietly. 

"Trust me here. I'll explain later."

She looked to him, and then to Angel. Shrugging, she walked to the Mustang, revved it, and drove away, perhaps a little too fast. When she was safely away, Michael looked to Angel.

"You know what this is?" the vampire asked him.

"A trap," Michael said as he drew his sword. "We can handle this, but a slayer's strength would be turned against her. That's why she had to leave."

"Exactly who do you work for?" Angel asked as Michael pulled a small pouch from his jacket pocket. 

"Myself, mostly," he replied, still holding the bag. "I've been paid by the Council to handle things on occasion, as well as other groups here and there."

"And what the hell are you doing?" Angel asked when Michael opened the bag and shook the contents onto the ground.

"Making this a lot easier than going up there and fighting. Be ready." Michaels hands moved deftly, tracing symbols in the air and murmuring what sounded like an Egyptian incantation. After a few moments he finished and drew his sword.

Angel was about to ask him another question when he heard a low whistling sound, like something falling. He looked up just as Michael did, and saw the dark, vaguely man-like shape free falling towards them.

"Head or heart," Michael said as he took a step to the side, which Angel mirrored. "Steel hurts it, not much else save the claws or fangs of another… monster."

"Thanks," Angel said wryly. The creature landed softly in front of them. Standing almost seven feet tall, and heavily muscled, it still would have passed for a human if not for the lack of hair or eyes, and the large mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth. The thing growled in anger, it's clawed hands moving oddly, as if the fingers and arm had more joints than it should have. 

Angel leapt forward, leveling a powerful blow to the creature's midsection. It bent forward slightly, and Michael's sword clove head from neck cleanly.

"I thought this was too dangerous for Faith to be here," Angel said as the strange lights atop the building ceased and returned to normal. "And just what was that?"

"It is what my father called a Spawner. It's very presence warps unborn children to create more like it. If it got near either of the Slayers, it could absorb their powers, impregnate them, and create a very powerful, very deadly monster. It's only happened once, and that creature tore through most of Roman Europe in the first century AD, before a wandering monk destroyed it."

Angel blinked once in surprise. "How common are those things?" 

"Not very," Michael answered, wiping the blood from his blade. "But they are a pain in the ass if you don't get rid of them within the first few weeks. They do multiply pretty quickly."

"And what about any woman this one got near?"

"They'll be just fine," Michael said. "The creature has to be alive when the child is born for the corruption to take effect. Hence the rarity of the creature. It's strong, but dumb, and easily killed when there's only one."

Angel nodded. After a moment he walked over to his car and got behind the wheel. Michael sat in the front seat and put his sword in the back. Angel drove without a word.


	5. A Double Shot

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

Title: A popular method for getting drunk….

*****

Angel dropped Michael off at the hotel, where Faith was waiting with the Mustang. Leaning against the hood, a very bored expression on her face.

"Took you long enough," she said as she sauntered up to him. "What'ch wanna to tonight?"

Michael raised his eyebrow, then chuckled lightly. Taking her by the arm, he lead her to the room. He didn't say a word the entire way up. Walking into the room, he tossed his blade and coat on a nearby chair and walked into the kitchen.

Faith, slightly confused, sat on the couch. When he came back out with two bottles of whiskey and two shot glasses, her eyes brightened.

"Trying to get me drunk?" she asked, smirking at him.

"No need to try," he said evenly. "We'll both get absolutely plastered, maybe get sick, pass out, and maybe, this time, you'll sleep until a decent hour."

She laughed as he handed her one of the bottles. "Then why'd you break out the glasses?" With a wink, she opened the bottle and took a long swig of the harsh liquor.

Grinning himself, Michael followed suit.

*****

"'ello?" Faith heard over the pounding inside her skull. She tried to sit up and open her eyes, but lifting her head even a fraction of an inch caused the world, as yet unseen, to spin wildly. Deciding sleep was better, she stopped moving and curled up next to the solid warmth next to her.

"Alright, we'll go. And no, not anytime soon."

She grumbled slightly when he paused, annoyed at the noise he was making.

"I'm hungover, and so is Faith. We'll leave tonight."

She heard him hang up, and purred as his arm wrapped around her again. She just wanted to sleep some more.

Michael looked down on the half-naked woman beside him. They hadn't done anything but talk and drink. The five bottles on the table attested to the valiant attempt to drown their livers last night. They talked for quite some time, both letting out fears and frustrations. He wasn't quite sure what they had talked about, exactly, but he doubted she did either. Then again, he was the one who killed three bottles of Jack last night.

Closing his eyes, he wondered briefly how the trip to Sunnydale would go. Buffy might try and kill Faith, but he'd stop her. And he had a bone to settle with a certain William the Bloody. Maybe the Slayer would know where he was…

*****

_Sunnydale, the next night_

Buffy heaved a sigh of frustration, neither the first or the last of the evening. The patrolling was cut short by Willow, who found some prophesy, or Big Evil, and needed everyone to help her research. Xander idly toyed with the book on his lap, half-heartedly researching. Willow read quickly, multiple tomes spread before her, as she tried to translate from some ancient, obscure language. Dawn was asleep, having a big test at school tomorrow. And Spike…

He had been quite the last few days, uncharacteristically so. She found herself wanting him, but she pushed the thought aside, for the millionth time that night. She _so _didn't need to go there. But there he was, an ancient Latin tome open in his lap, splayed on the loveseat.

Buffy blushed, again, when she caught herself looking at him out of the corner of her eye, a familiar warmth spreading through her body. Well, the lower part that was.

Slamming the book closed, Buffy stood and walked to the door. Willow jumped slightly, while Xander merely glanced at her. Spike didn't even look at her.

"I'm going back out," she said, the frustration evident in her voice. "I'll stop by Willie's and see what the scum know."

"Be careful, Buffy," Willow said, turning back to the book.

"'kay," she replied as she walked out the door.

She had walked three blocks before she knew he was following her. Silent as usual, she _felt _him following her. Turning on her heel, she glared at him.

"We have unfinished business, luv," He said softly, a cigarette held limply in his right hand.

"What's that?" she said, her voice already dripping with venom, and barely contained lust. "Slayer-Vampire business? I've got Mr. Pointy right here."

"Man to woman," he said, flicking the fag away. "I've told you what 've been thinking'. You're turn, luv."

"There's nothing to say," she said, the sounds of an approaching car barely noticed in her anger. "You're not human, never will be."

Spike ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and then looked at her with sad eyes. For an instant, she wanted to hold him, feel him, have him.

"Guess we've got some company, pet." He said, his voice growing hard. "We'll finish this later."

"It's already finished," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the Mustang that parked a few feet from her. The man who stepped out of the driver's seat was tall, and the blade he drew from the back seat glimmered in the streetlight.

"William the Bloody," he growled, his hazel eyes glimmering with barely contained anger. "Must be my lucky night."

Buffy watched in slight wonder as the man closed with Spike quickly, the blade fairly singing from the speed he wielded the blade. Spike dodged the swings, never attacking, always defending. It took Buffy only a moment to get over her surprise, and then she found her voice.

"Stop," she said, "Before I decide to kick your ass."

The sword wielder stopped, but held his blade at the ready. His gaze never left Spike, but Buffy's reaction to the second person that got out of the car took her by complete surprise.

"Relax, Michael," Faith said, her voice meek as she looked at Buffy. Both Slayers stared at each other for some time, before Buffy remembered the man, Michael, who had attacked Spike. Turning to face him, she noticed that he was now more interested in what may have occurred between her and Faith.

"Why did you want to kill Spike?" she asked, proud of her calm voice. If it wasn't for Angel's call earlier, she may have tried to attack Faith.

"He killed my father," he replied, his voice simmering with barely contained hatred. 

"I didn't kill James," Spike said calmly. "But we'll talk about that later. We've got problems, pet."

All four eyes were instantly drawn to the cemetery behind them, which now resembled a scene from a horror movie. The dead had begun to tear out of their graves, stumbling forward awkwardly and growling. The older corpses, mostly bone, moved faster and had an evil red light emanating from their hollow eye sockets.

"Fuck," Michael said, running to his car. Buffy's first thought was that he was a coward, but seeing Faith and Spike join him at the trunk, she ran over, curious. The opened trunk contained a variety of weapons, and her eyes lit up.

"Toys," she said, her voice like that of a small child.

"Stick with something blunt," Michael said, selecting a heavy war hammer for himself. Faith chose a flail, giving it an experimental swing after she turned away. Spike went straight for a wicked looking hand axe, eliciting a pout from the blond slayer. The heavy mace she finally picked up was well balanced, and carried sharp studs over the head of the weapon.

"You know what's 'appening here, mate?" Spike asked, already two steps closer to the entrance to the cemetery.

"Someone's animating the dead," he replied, hefting the hammer easily with one hand. His sword remained sheathed on his back. "Living or undead, we crush him."

"And these poor sods?"

"Mow 'em down."

Spike grinned wickedly and charged into the throng of moving corpses, his wild swings sending limbs everywhere as he began to cut a swath through the rotting flesh and yellowed bone.

"Can't let him have all the fun," Faith said as she leapt into the fray, fighting to reach Spike's side. Michael stopped Buffy with a hand on her shoulder and pointed down the street. A man, cloaked in black robes, was hurrying down the street, away from them.

"Crossbow?" Buffy asked, and Michael handed her one from the trunk. The blonde slayer took aim and fired. The bolt flew true, taking the figure in the back of the head. It stumbled, then turned back to face them

"Not normal," Buffy said, dropping the crossbow. "Any ideas?"

"Only one," Michael said as he walked past her to meet the approaching figure. "I hate to steal one liners from others but…"

It was then she saw the sawed off shotgun in his hand, as did the figure. It wailed in fear as Michael got within fifteen feet of it.

"Say hello to my boom stick," his amusement was clear in his voice, as the shotgun's blast tore through the night, sending the thing down, a gaping hole in the center of it's chest.

"What the bloody 'ell?!" Spike's cry echoed in the new-found silence, "What wanker ruined my bloody fight!?!?!"

Buffy's mild chuckle erupted into full laughter when Faith echoed Spike's outburst. Michael only grinned.


	6. Sex Type Thing

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

Title: Stone Temple Pilots, baby. 'I know you want what's on my mind…'

*****

There was definitely a chill in the air. Of the four, Michael was the worst. He kept glaring at Spike, who responded with a bored yawn every time. He looked kinda funny in Buffy's eyes, yawning every thirty seconds or so.

"Alright, mate," Spike said after a few moments, "Let's get this out into the open now, 'efore I end up not 'earing the Slayer's next peroxide joke."

Michael continued staring at the vampire, his hatred blatant. His right hand continued to clench and unclench slowly, occasionally cracking his knuckles. Faith put a restraining, or comforting, hand on his arm.

Sighing again, Spike leaned forward and spoke calmly and evenly. "I did not kill your father. Matter of fact, he damn near ended my un-life."

Michael growled slightly and tensed, causing Faith to throw her other hand behind his back and firmly on his far shoulder. Apparently, she wasn't taking any chances with a fight in the house. Buffy, rolling her eyes, motioned for Spike to continue, and quickly.

"Met 'im in Boston years ago. 'is sword, it hurt, a lot. He held back the killing blow."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Michael said through clenched teeth.

"He stopped suddenly and smiled," Spike said. "Stood over me, tall an' imposing. Said something that confused the bloody 'ell outta me."

Knowing his father, and how he was prone to _feel _things, and act on them, Michael relaxed just a fraction.

"Told me I'd always be 'love's bitch'."

Michael burst out laughing for a moment, all anger at the Brit fading quickly. It did sound just like his old man. Then, just as suddenly, he quieted and looked at the blonde slayer, then back at the vampire.

"Guess it sorta makes sense," Spike muttered. "Can we drink now?"

There was a knock at the door, and Buffy rose to get it as the two boys went to the kitchen for the alcohol. Apparently, Spike's story was enough for Michael.

"Xander?" Buffy said cautiously, "what's going on?"

"Spike told me to grab Re… Willow, some beer and some tequila," the dark haired man said, an impish grin on his face. "He said drunkenness would be goodness, and that Faith was here."

Buffy merely rolled her eyes before letting him past. Willow grinned impishly and walked in herself. The witch pulled Buffy close for a moment, whispering into her ear.

"Relax," her whispered voice faintly tickled her ear. "This might just be fun."

"But since when did Xander start listening to Spike," the slayer whispered back. "I thought he was president of the 'I-hate-the-Undead' club?"

"I think it's a guy thing," the witch said, no longer whispering. "After all, who can turn down a night of drinks among mostly friends?"

*****

"Name of the game, my poor friends, is asshole!" Xander said enthusiastically, shuffling the cards. "Who doesn't know how to play?"

Spike and Michael chuckled and lifted their personal bottles, each a close mirror to the other. Faith chuckled and followed from her own bottle, while Buffy sipped her less potent mixed drink. Since no one said anything, Xander began dealing the cards out quickly, with a practiced ease that slightly surprised Buffy.

"This'll be a free round, then the real game can begin." Xander said. To his right was Michael, followed by Faith. Spike separated the two slayers, with Willow completing the circle on Xander's right. "Two times president makes a rule, twos clear, fours social, and asshole keeps it clean."

"Guess you're the acting for the first round," Michael said as he checked his cards. 

"Sure thing, Mr. Black," Xander said happily, referring to the other man's clothing. "But you'll be under if you stick to the hard stuff."

"Keep telling yourself that, kid," Michael said, the amusement in his voice clear. "I'm not going to hold your head above the porcelain goddess tonight."

The first hand was started quickly, and ended with a very annoyed Xander. Michael had gone out first, followed by Spike, Buffy, Willow, and Faith just before him. Everyone shifted seats and Michael's request, 'just to make it easier to see who can tell who to drink' was his reason. Xander shuffled and dealt quickly. 

Michael placed a single card face down on the table, and then looked to Xander. "Best card you have, Asshole."

Grumbling, Xander relinquished the only two he had. Grumbling to himself, he grimaced when he heard Michael's voice next.

"Lift 'em up," he said, his voice amusement itself. "I'd like to give a meaningful toast, but I've never been much for words. To new allies, I suppose."

Glass touched glass, and everyone began to drink in earnest.

*****

An hour later, and three remained in the game, but only by a hair. The redhead, Willow, was passed out beside him, her left arm touching the floor. Xander was by her feet, snoring softly. Buffy, still awake, had long ago lost the ability to focus on the cards. Instead, she absently stroked Spike's leg. Michael glanced at the vampire, who had matched him drink for drink, shot for shot. Long gone was the beer and whiskey. All that remained was that god-awful tequila…

They had delved into a simple game of blackjack. It was easier to play with only three people, and didn't require much sobriety. And Spike won. Again.

"Bottoms up, mates," he said, cocky grin firmly, if drunkenly, in place. Sighing, Michael reached for the saltshaker, only to have Faith grab it with a wicked grin.

"Ladies first," she said, raising the cut of lime, rind first, to his mouth. He clenched it between his teeth, and nearly swallowed it whole when she licked his throat and poured a bit of salt on it. The shot glace rested precariously on his groin.

"Going down," she murmured, licking the salt off his throat. Slowly, she fumbled for the shot with her teeth, rubbing more than necessary. She threw her head back, and then dropped the shot glass as she leaned in for the lime. Her tongue danced on his lips for a moment before she claimed the lime and bit.

"Spike," Buffy whispered, too loud in her drunken state, "Let's go upstairs."

"Right, luv," he said, "Unless you wanna see the show."

"I'm not into showing off," she slurred slightly.

"But you're not the one -" swallowing his suddenly thick tongue, he leapt to his feet, grabbed Buffy, and ran upstairs. Thinking wasn't seen as one of Spike's strong points, but it was hard to miss the slayer's very blunt hint. 

"You scared them away," Michael murmured as he stood. Faith leaned against him, swaying slightly. "Guess we've got the kitchen, or the basement."

"Basement," Faith said, her voice wicked as she ran her nails lightly over his thighs. Despite his jeans, her nails sent shivers up his spine. "Just hope we don't bring the house down around us."

*****

Both Willow and Xander sat up and stretched when the second couple left the room. They both grinned like children and gave each other a high five.

"Told you it would be easy," Willow said as the first thumps came from upstairs. "Spike was right about Faith, and, well…"

"S'okay," Xander said, shrugging. "I'm kinda used to Fangless and her doing, well, things." Even as the last words came from his mouth, Faith's enthusiastic cries came from the basement, surprisingly matched by Buffy's from above. "And before you ask, she was that loud. Faith," he amended at Willow's raised eyebrow, his blush reaching the roots of his hair.

They sat in silence for a moment, two old friends basking in a successful mission, before Xander stood and stretched. He didn't notice Willow's thoughtful look, or the tongue that peeked out from between her lips.

"C'mon, I'll walk you home," he said tiredly.

"We could always stay here," Willow said slowly. "Safer," she added after a moment.

"Wills," Xander said, "I'm a guy. Sounds like low, or perhaps, mid-grade porn. Don't feel like walking around with Captain Happy at attention all night."

The look of surprise on his face was priceless as Willow grabbed his crotch, just hard enough to feel good. He looked down at his best friend and saw the hunger in her eyes as she pulled him onto the couch.

"I'm drunk, and horny," she said just before she kissed him. "And who said I have to play for just one team."

About twenty minutes later, when the thumping and shouting were finished, three very different comments were made, and the responses varied just as much. Starting from the highest point:

"We didn't break stuff this time," said the pouting slayer.

"'cept maybe my back," the former Big Bad said, groaning slightly. 

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"I wonder if there's a spell to give you tits," the wiccan murmured softly, jokingly.

"Don't you think about that!" the sound of an ass being smacked, a moment of pause, then a low groan. "That's okay to think about…"

"This almost feels…"

"Isn't an almost about it, Faith."

"Thank you."


	7. Everlong

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes. For those of you wondering if there was a reason behind the easy pairings in the last chapter, relax. There's an explanation, although it's quite a few chapters down the road.

Title: More Foo Fighters…. 'Everlong' belongs to them, not me.

*****

I could feel her warmth beside me, and I was again grateful for last night. Regardless of what came of it, if anything, I knew I loved her, had always loved her. Friend or lover, I didn't really care. Last night had been just, I don't know, long over-due. 

My free hand traced the soft curves of her sleeping body as she lay next to me, still amazed by the night before. I have to admit, I felt a little jealous of her previous lovers, but that green seed died almost as soon as it was planted. It really didn't matter to me. I had a piece of her now, and I could treasure that forever. My hand slowed as it rested on the slight curve of her hips, her slight murmur of pleasure filling me with an emotion that I had always held for this woman.

"Morning," she said, her eyes still closed as she kissed the shoulder she rested upon.

"Morning, Wills," I replied, my face lit by a warm smile.

She opened her eyes and looked at me, no trace of the confusion I had feared to see. I guess I should have known, really. She wanted last night as much as I had. As hurt as we both had been, we deserved it, I guess. No, I knew it was something that would be good for the both of us.

"Guess we should get dressed," she said softly, stretching against me. The slow seductive smile that spread across her face was no doubt caused my what she felt growing between us. And I'm wondering if I was talking about the physical response of flesh or what was in our hearts. Damn, when the hell did I get so eloquent, even if just in my thoughts?

"Down boy," she said teasingly as she got up and began pulling her cloths on. "I'll start breakfast, 'kay?"

"Sure," I said, somehow unhurt by her words. I know she's just teasing me, and have a feeling this isn't over, not buy a long shot. Rolling off the couch, I began looking for my own cloths, which actually ended up in a semi-pile close to hers. 

"Xander," she said when we were both close to decent, "Do you, regret, last night?"

"Wills," I said, cupping her chin and kissing her gently. "You know I don't. We'll work this out later, when we're alone."

Her smile was immediate and warmed my heart. I felt like my old self, but at the same time, a new man.

*****

"Blood hell," his voice drifted to me across the dream. "I love you so much."

The cool feel of his lips on mine brought me awake, and I don't really remember feeling so peaceful, so safe, in a long time. I can feel him beside me, in my head and my heart. I just wish I could tell him.

My eyes opened to the sight of him, his hair disheveled and eyes soft with love. I couldn't help the slow, seductive smile that graced my lips at that vision. And his trademark smirk, less cocky and warmer, filled my body with a slow heat. Must be Spike's Smirk, version 9.9B. The 'Buffy only' version.

I continued to smile as I urged him over me, my warm thoughts turning into fire as he slide gently, completely, into me. My legs, wrapped around his waist, brought him closer deeper. I wanted all of him. But then again, I had that already, didn't I?

"Spi…Spike," I pant as he continues his slow thrusts, "Don't stop…"

He kissed me, our lips and tongues meeting in something much gentler than any time before. His hands, so cool and deft, traced every part of my body. I could only hold onto him as hard as I could, urging him to go faster. He never did.

It happened so slowly, it felt like dying. Only, instead of the cold emptiness, it was heat and him. Only him. With every thrust, a piece of my confusion died. With every whisper of my name, a part of my doubt disappeared. And when we both finished, panting, I came the closest to expressing my feelings to him. One day I would tell him. I just hoped he understood I needed some time.

"Only you," I whispered as he lay panting, his weight feeling so right over and inside me. "Only you."

"I know, luv," he said, his voice soft against my throat as he kissed me gently. Drifting back to sleep, I never saw the single tear in escape his eye.

*****

I lay beside him, more at peace with myself since I was a young girl. He was strong when I wanted him to be, gentle and caring when I needed him to be. I'm not much into praying or thanking anyone, but in his arms I thanked and prayed everyone and everything that brought me too him. The profound change I felt when he kissed me as we lay spent still rocked through my soul. I guess I do have one of those, and it remembers how to feel.

I couldn't see the concern on my face when he murmured in his sleep, but I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I murmured soothing words to him and tried to calm him. His eyes, though closed, moved incessantly. 

I leaned over him and kissed him, nearly jumping out of the small bed when one hand held the nape of my neck. The kiss deepened, and I felt him grow hard against my belly. Without words, without a second thought, my hand guided him to me. I lowered myself onto him, and began to ride him.

Within moments, I was crying his name, over and over again, as he gripped my bucking hips and thrust upward as he came. I rode the waves of my orgasm as he held me, trying not to let me fall. In a way, it was too late. I had already fallen, hard and fast. I'm pretty sure I'm enjoying every moment of it, despite everything.


	8. Welcome to the Fold

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

Title: Filter song. Don't own 'Welcome to the Fold', although it is a good song.

*****

Buffy sat down next to Spike on the low stone wall that surrounded the cemetery the group had been patrolling. They watched Michael face the demon with a critical eye, appraising their newest ally. They were impressed, to say the least, of his actions and skill that he had shown over the last week. Now, they were able to more fully gauge his talent and training.

The demon was pretty impressive, at least in the 'scare' factor. It stood almost two feet taller than Michael, as far as they could tell with all the ducking, weaving, and swinging. It's skin resembled spiked armor, blood red veins standing out against onyx skin. After Michael's first punch, they concluded that it was as hard a steel as well.

The head was dominated first by two down curving horns from the temples, secondly by eyes that seemed to be flaming. They couldn't discern a mouth or nose on the creature, but they had heard it grunt in pain and spit curses at the man it faced. The large, gray-green blade it wielded seemed lighter than it actually was, for it moved in a serpent-like fashion to counter Michael's blade, a steel long sword.

"He's good with that," Buffy said admirably to Spike, who chuckled and put an arm around the Slayer. "Maybe he could teach me some moves."

"I think you've got all the moves you need, pet," Spike said, a smirk firmly in place. He was amazed at how relaxed she was around him over the last few days. _Finally starting to look good, _Spike thought to himself.

Faith watched Michael from a closer vantage than they held. She winced both times the demon almost skewered Michael, and frowned when his own blade failed to penetrate the demon's flesh. She was about to join in and help him when the demon kicked suddenly, sending Michael flying into a tree.

"Michael!" she screamed and ran to his side. Her heart resumed it's beating when he stood, shaking himself off and meeting the demon's rush.

"Katana," duck, "under," parry, "seat," thrust, dodge, "quickly!"

Faith ran to the Mustang parked behind Buffy and Spike, and quickly found the blade. Not bothering to shut the door, she ran back to the fight, leaping the wall gracefully. 

Michael forced the demon's blade high, then spun behind the powerful downward slash. Avoiding the wicked backhand by rolling forward, he was a mere three feet from Faith. Without a word, he reached back and drew the blade, dropping his long sword to the ground.

No one had really been prepared for what happened next. The katana shimmered with a faint golden radiance, which seemed to unsettle the demon as well as Spike. Michael didn't hesitate, launching a flurry of attacks that drove the demon back. Suddenly, he saw the first true opening the demon made, and thrust forward. This time, his blade sank deeply into the demon's flesh, which sizzled from the contact. Twisting savagely, Michael yanked the blade free, and in one smooth move removed head from shoulders before the demon could begin to scream in pain.

Faith walked to him, long sword in one hand and the sheath for the katana in the other. He smoothly sheathed both blades, and walked arm in arm with Faith over to Buffy and Spike. The vampire looked at him with a bit of confusion and fear in his eyes, but held his peace, waiting for Buffy to speak.

"Nice work," she said after a moment, her newfound respect for the strange man before her evident in her voice. "Where did you learn to fight like that, and what was with the katana?"

"My father taught me," Michael replied slowly. Lifting the sheathed katana before him, he paused for a moment before continuing. "This was his blade, and it isn't from this world, not completely."

"An alien sword?" Buffy questioned, "Xander's gonna flip about this one."

"Not alien," Michael said immediately. "It's a sword from the higher planes." When both Slayers looked confused, he glanced at Spike for assistance. The platinum haired vampire merely shrugged and motioned for him to continue. "Angels, or celestials as they were once known as, fight demons as well. They cannot survive on this plane, due to the influence the old demonic rule had on the land. Only those who were part human could take the battle to this world. Like my father…"

*****

At Buffy's request, they returned to her house before continuing the discussion. The blonde wanted Willow and Xander there, as well as Dawn. She didn't want to have to have repeat discussions on what appeared to be a difficult discussion for Michael.

They all sat in the living room, their eyes on Michael. For his part, he ignored them, his mind trying to order his thoughts and the necessary explanations. It wasn't really the kind of thing he was used to explaining. And, truth be told, what he was about to tell them about his past, and himself, was a little unsettling.

"Alright," he said suddenly, "I'm going to go through this as simply as possible. Then, I'll answer any questions you might have, to the best of my ability. Try not to interrupt me until I'm finished. I really don't need to get side-tracked here."

Looking around, he saw everyone nod their acceptance. Even the usually flippant Xander nodded solemnly. Michael took a sip of water before setting his glass down and leaning forward. His audience was enthralled, as was to be expected.

"There are two sides to every extreme," Michael began. "It's a simple matter of the balance that the 'beginning' had. Demons and Angels fought for eons before the first mortal life drew breath. Between the worlds that would one day hold mortal life, the eternal enemies fought and died for supremacy over, well, everything."

"Then, one day, mortal life sprung from the bodies of both heaven and hell. Those mortal beings were beneath the notice of both sides in that war, until they discovered that mortals were beginning to influence the outcomes of the battles. That was when the Demons gave the form to man, giving cunning and a penchant for destruction."

Michael paused to let this sink in, noting the faces before him. Spike seemed the least bothered by this, while Willow seemed to be shocked by it. Everyone else ranged the degrees between. Sipping his water again, he gave Faith's hand a small squeeze.

"The Angels gave unto man a moral compass, the ability to chose right and wrong, love and hate, truth and lies. It was a balancing act, really, as the Angels needed the mortals to fight the Demons just as much as the Demons needed man to fight the Angels."

"Vampires are the closest to what the demons wanted, while the Slayers closest to what the Angels wanted, in the beginning at least. Then something strange happened. Some of the Demons bred with humans, giving rise to the strains of demons that would normally be able to pass among humans without notice. I'm sure your Watcher could fill you in on the various kinds."

"Angels, on the other hand, didn't breed with humans until recently. These unions were of love, not a calculated move to bring about power. But the offspring have always taken up the fight in realms where Angels could not go, the same way that half-demons would fight where Demons dare not tread. And so the fight spans across time and space still."

"My father was the child of a mortal woman, full of fire and piety, and an Angel who was known for his love of humanity. He saved her from a hellish imprisonment, and she saved him from the retaliation. They fell in love, and my father James was born."

"He fought against demons as soon as he could wield a blade. His skill and courage are known to the Demons of many realms, as well as the fact that he fought beside his father with a blade of this world, blessed with the essence of the Angelic home world."

"My grandfather died defending his wife, and she died avenging him. Heartbroken, my father returned to this world, to live out his days in peace. He carried the blade his father had given him, in hopes of giving it to another who would continue the fight. He soon learned, however, that the blade could only be held by those of his blood. In a deep depression, he went to Ireland to live in seclusion."

"One day, he heard cries for help and felt, for the first time in years, the taint of demons. He ran, heedless, and found a woman fighting against a dozen vampires. He felt such a rage at those half-breeds, and charged into the fray. As he was not fully of this world, his bare hands wounded the vampires easily, and his killing strikes could not be healed. He saved her, and fell in love."

"Years later, I was born."

Everyone in the room was quiet, staring at him for long minutes. Michael finished his water and sat back, waiting for the first question. It was, surprisingly, Dawn who asked.

"So, that's why I feel safe around you," she said, blushing slightly at Faith's raised eyebrow. "It's just that I feel, I mean… you know what I am, right?"

"Yes," Michael said quietly. "And yes to you're next question, I can't use you for power, and am in fact sworn to protect you. Any person like me would feel a desire to protect you from any harm."

"I'm already here, mate," Spike said with a slight growl. "Niblet already has enough protection."

"I realize that, William," Michael said with a small grin. "I'm just laying out the truth. Besides, I'm still not sure why I don't have a strong urge to kill you… again."

"Not really sure myself, wanker," Spike shot back, but the small grin on his face belied his amusement.

"So, what powers do you have?" Buffy asked. "Healing, speed, strength…?"

"I do heal fast, and don't get hurt as easily as a normal human. Remember, I'm three quarters human. I haven't tried to see what else I can do."

"And the sword," Faith said on the heels of his answer, "What's up with it?" Apparently, this was going to be a long night.

"You saw some of it with the demon," Michael said. "I can swing it faster, and harder, than normal steel. It feels lighter, and cuts through demon flesh easily. It also prevents the wounds from healing naturally."

"Tell me 'bout it," Spike murmured. At Buffy's questioning look, he shrugged. "No scar, luv. Just took a damn long time to heal."

"Then why don't you use it more often?" Buffy asked.

"Because there are spells that can pinpoint the blade when it is drawn, if the caster has been wounded by the blade."

"Not good then," Willow said, frowning. "I've seen the spell. It uses a lot of dark magic."

"True, but the guy I'm worried about already knows I'm in Sunnydale," Michael said quietly. "It's the same guy after Faith and Buffy." Glancing at Dawn, he added, "Maybe you as well."

"You've never said who it was," Faith said. "So, while we're all here, spill."

"The Necromancer is what he's called," Michael said slowly. "Powerful in the workings of, well, necromancy. Death and the dead are what he uses, although he still has a great deal of power with destructive magics and illusions."

"How do we kill him?" Xander asked. "He doesn't seem as bad as the other things we've fought."

"He's a bad deal, mate," Spike said slowly. "I've 'eard of the bloke. He's powerful, alright. He's also already dead…"

The surprise on everyone's face was apparent, and Spike almost held back the rest of his knowledge until this bit sank in. And yet… Michael didn't seem fazed by the revelation, so he might as well go on.

"He's used 'is magic to make 'imself a bloody lich." Spike rubbed his eyes slightly. "Since 'e's already dead, the magic 'e uses is more potent. Doesn't 'ave to worry 'bout the price of his magic."

"Not good," Willow said, "Not good at all."

"It's alright for now," Michael said. "Two Slayers, a Vampire, and my own heritage should be able to stop him in a straight fight. He can't stop everything we can throw at him."

"You forgot a wiccan an the Zeppo," Xander said, sarcastically. 

"Hmm… white magic would help, a lot," Michael said thoughtfully. "And come to think about it, a normal human would be unaffected by the majority of the spells the lich would use to stop the rest of us."

"Wow." Xander said, stunned. "Being normal actually works this time?"

"We'd better talk to Giles," Buffy said, reaching for the phone and dialing. "See what he knows about this guy, and if he can help finding a weakness."

They waited patiently Buffy listened to the phone. When she hung up the phone, everyone looked at her, puzzled.

"He's not home."

Michael shrugged and rose, stretching slightly. Faith stood up beside him and took his hand in hers when he lowered his arms. "Going to the apartment," Michael said. "We'll give you a call in the morning."

"Damn," Buffy swore, looking at the clock. "I've gotta work tomorrow."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Michael said, winking. "Check your account tomorrow."

The door closed as the two walked out, Buffy's face still wrinkled quizzically over his departing words.

*****

The apartment was only a few blocks from Buffy's house, something that both Faith and Michael were grateful for. They were usually bone tired after they left Buffy's house, and tonight was no exception.

When the door closed, Faith looked around the apartment, as she had every night this week. It consisted of a living room, dining room/kitchen, bathroom and a bedroom. Faith was still surprised at the speed Michael had gotten the place, and furnished it. All the furniture was new and tasteful. Black seemed to be Michael's color of choice for the cushions and bed, while everything was made from wood. The only notable exception was the black steel bed frame.

"Something on your mind?" Michael asked softly as his arms wrapped around her. Faith leaned back into him, once again surprised by how safe he made her feel.

"I think I still don't know what you're capable of," she said quietly. "I thought I found a nice, normal guy. Then you turn out to be part angel."

Michael lead her to the bedroom, still embracing her. "I'm the same man you met that first night," he said softly. "I just have layers."

Faith chuckled softly as her hands found his belt buckle. "I'm hoping some of those layers come off."

"Most," he said, his voice growing heavy with desire. "Some will always remain, but you'll know what they are."

They lost themselves in the sweating, moaning, pleasure of the moment. When they lay spent in a tangle of limbs, Faith felt that she had come home. Michael felt he found something and someone worth fighting, and dying, for.


	9. Lover Lay Down

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes. This started as a light chapter, but I just **had **to through a bit of a twist at the end. Sorry, I'm a bit of a sadistic bastard.

Title: Gotta thank Dave Matthews for the song and lyrics used herein. I don't own it, and Faith knows that too. 

*****

The Mustang fairly hummed beneath his expert driving, the road being devoured under the wheels. The wind generated by the open windows ruffled both his hair and hers; the sunglasses they wore cut down most of the glare from the sun. Their day of peace was over, and now it was time to return to the reality of their world.

They spent most of the afternoon at a small state park north of Sunnydale, taking pleasure in the normality of the day. Faith had been nervous as hell, but after talking to Willow and Buffy, decided to go. Like she would have missed it, regardless of her fears.

The simple dress she wore was Willow's idea, and she was glad for it. She felt like a girl, not the slayer, and it was something she knew she needed. With him sitting there, playing his guitar, she forgot the pain and uncertainty of her life, and let his words carry her away. Granted, he didn't write the song, and she had heard it once or twice on the radio, but she liked the way he sang it better. Because he sang to her.

__

"Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head,

And I'll slip into my lover's hands,

Kiss me, won't you kiss me now,

And sleep I would inside your mouth.

Don't be us too shy,

For knowing it's no big surprise,

That I will wait for you,

I will wait for no one but you.

Oh, please lover lay down,

Spend this time with me, together,

Share this smile, Lover lay down,

Walk with me, walk with you,

You hold my hand in your hand,

So much we have dreamed,

We were so much younger,

Harder to explain that we are all stronger…"

She was lost in his eyes, in his voice. The song seemed to drown out; and all that mattered was him. She saw the emotion in his eyes, and wasn't afraid of what it meant. Butterflies, check. Rapid breathing, double check. Fear, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

__

"By my lover's side, together,

Share this smile, challenge the urge to cry,

Together, Share this smile, Lover lay down.

Oh, please lover lay down…."

And she did, pulling him with her as she kissed him tenderly. They lay beneath that ancient oak and held each other, kissed each other sweetly. No thoughts of fighting and killing, no questions of demons or angels. Just a man and a woman, caring nothing about the world but everything about the feel of those kisses.

__

They couldn't stay there forever, despite wishes to the contrary. They weren't moonstruck teenagers, but adults who knew the stakes of the war they fought. And yet… the stakes were raised for them, the threat of loss so much greater. 

The spoils of victory, however, made the battle worth the risk.

__

*****

_The Master's Lair, beneath Sunnydale_

"This place is strong with death," he noted, his voice cold and rasping, hiding whatever inflection he might have had. The heavy cowl of the black robe he wore hid his features from any who may have looked upon him, the only notable feature that the robe could not hide was his height, as he towered at almost seven feet.

He raised his voice in a slow incantation, his hands making precise motions through the air. His fingers lacked flesh, giving the first hint at his undead state. The red glow that came from his empty eye sockets was the second, and most notable. He was a man, a long time ago in an age past, but no longer. He sold his life and soul for the powers of his magic, and had never regretted the sacrifice.

As the incantation was completed, three armored skeletons rose effortlessly through the stone of the cavern. Naked steel blades were gripped tightly in fleshless fingers, polished armor designed to protect vital organs clung uselessly to empty rib cages. Faint red light burned within empty skulls as they knelt before the Necromancer.

"Bring the Key to me," he commanded. "Just the Key."


	10. Lock 'n Load

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

Title: Dennis Leary, Lock 'n Load. Great jokes, none of it mine. 

*****

Xander sat on the couch of the living room he and Anya once shared. The echoes of their laughter, their lust, still hung heavily in the air. The lights were dim, as they had been since she left. Yet this time, he wasn't feeling sorry for himself, or reliving the mistakes he had made as he sat alone. His mind was focused on other things.

The smell of gun oil hung lightly in the air, mingling with the last traces of his dinner as he diligently; professionally, cleaned the gun and aligned the sights. The cool, dark metal felt reassuring in his hand, and the weight gave him confidence. 

The three full magazines rested neatly beside his cleaning supplies, loaded with bullets he had been trying to purchase for months now, but had only now come into his possession. Large caliber and hollow point, he knew instinctively that they could put down a vampire as easily as a human. His mind held the memories of another man, one who knew weapons and tactics, who had seen the damage these rounds could do. Undead or not, you felt these bullets.

With a satisfied smile, Xander slid the magazine home and let the slide go forward. One round now chambered, he carefully checked the safety before holstering the weapon. He knew the stakes were being raised by this… Necromancer. He knew his friends could be hurt, or killed. And Xander, feeling the fear balance his anger, decided to be prepared.

*****

Buffy stopped at the ATM on her walk to work the next morning, sighing as she checked her account. The balance was well more than she expected, somewhere around the tune of three thousand higher. Deciding not to question the change, she happily walked right back to her home, sliding into bed next to the sleeping vampire. It had been some time since she had been able to sleep during the day, not having to work at a low paying job to support herself and Dawn.

Somehow she knew Michael wasn't the only one to thank for the money, and wondered briefly where Giles was before drifting to sleep, sprawled over one very lucky blue eyed vampire.

*****

"You've got to be kidding me," Giles said as he waited for his flight to board. "You remember what happened last time to tried that particular route with her."

"Not much choice," the other Watcher said, shrugging. An old ally, and one who agreed with Giles on this issue. "She seems to have things settled, but you know how the uppers think about these things."

"Yes," Giles said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Amazingly shortsighted, as usual. A wonder any of them made it past grade school."

A small smile lit the other man's face, not unlike Giles' own. Both were librarians, and watchers, and shared a dark history. Both men knew the merits of thinking outside the established laws of the order. One man made the choice to leave the society altogether, and the other stayed within, a voice of change within the ancient Council.

"Be careful, Rupert," the man, Collins, said. "The retrieval team has orders to take her or kill her, and they'll be armed with guns."

"I will," Giles said as he put his glasses back on and took the other man's offered hand. "And be careful about the Necromancer. I have a feeling he isn't done playing the Council yet."

*****

"We've got a bit of a problem," Buffy said later that night, addressing Spike and Michael. 

"Well?" Spike drawled, smirking (yet again) as he watched his slayer.

"A pack of vampires," she said with only the slightest hitch in her voice. "They street race, kill the losers and take the cars."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Michael commented.

"It wouldn't be," she continued, still looking at Spike, "Except you're the only one with a car, and they know who I am."

"We'll take care of it, pet," Spike assured her. 

The sound of a van door slamming shut caught their collective curiosity as they all moved to the door. Willow and Xander were sitting on the couch, while Faith and Dawn were talking quietly in the kitchen. They all heard it, but none knew what it meant.

Suddenly, the front door, back door, and two side windows exploded inward. A dozen men, dressed as commandos and carrying small machine guns stormed the house. The guns were trained on the two slayers and the vampire. Apparently they didn't feel threatened by Michael, Xander, or Willow.

"Don't move," one man said, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet he wore. "We're here for Faith."

"Orders of the Council, girl," another man spoke. "You're coming with us, or in a body bag."

"Nobody moves," yet another man said. "I'm not against killing you all."

"Bloody fucking hell," Spike cursed under his breath, his hands held above his head.

The soft click of a safety being taken off startled the commandos. They were still as one of the people they neglected to cover spoke.

"Lower the guns or I'll shoot," Xander said calmly, the pistol held easily to one man's head. "I can take out a good number of you before you get a chance to shoot me."

"You'll still die, kiddo," the soldier said, his voice calm despite the .45 against his head.

"What I don't get," Michael said calmly, "Is why you didn't cover the witch, or myself. Not a very smart idea, you stupid fucking morons." The sword in his hand was very real, even though no one in the room remembered him drawing it.

"Leave now," Willow said, her voice cold. "Never return."

As the soldiers lowered their weapons and backed out, Faith and Buffy exchanged bewildered looks. That had gone down far too easily.

"So, intimidation is a good thing then," Dawn said, her voice trembling only slightly. Spike smirked, Xander gave a goofy grin, and Willow giggled. Only Faith and Michael seemed troubled by the events, each lost in dark thoughts. Or, they were until Buffy screamed.

"Look what they did to my house!"

*****

"We didn't get her, sir."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well, one guy had a gun, another had a sword, and there was a witch…"

"There were twelve of you!"

"I wasn't betting my life, or the lives of my men. Deal with it."

"Fine. We'll try this diplomatically then."

"Good fucking idea. Those people scare the living shit outta me."


	11. Hey Man, Nice Shot

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

Title: 'The Best Things' is another song from Filter. 

*****

"You've been quiet," Michael said as he wrapped his arms around Faith. She leaned back into him, resting her head on his chest. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," she said immediately, but he could hear the lie in her voice. Something was bothering her, and she wasn't comfortable talking about it. He needed to know what it was, otherwise there was nothing he could do to help her.

"Faith…"

"No matter how hard I try," she began immediately, "No matter who forgives me for what I've done, I can't get away from my past." A single tear escaped her eye, running a silent trail down her cheek.

There was nothing he could really say, yet his actions were enough. Just holding her, lending her his strength, was enough. They stood that way for quiet some time, simply watching the night sky.

*****

"Xander?" Willow asked, looking up from the broken glass she was sweeping up. "Where did you get a gun?"

"Legally," he answered immediately. "Bought, paid, and licensed." 

"Why do you need a gun?" She definitely wasn't comfortable with the topic.

"Things are getting bad, Wills," he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. "I have to be ready to act, and the gun is the only weapon I'm sure I can use well. That whole Halloween thing, that stayed with me longer than it should have. I mean, it was just a spell. Giles agreed with me."

"So, you're a soldier," she began, her arms going around her body. "All military knowledge in your head?"

"Yes and no," he said quietly. "Lance Corporal Thomas Fines died in 1994, but a part of him lived on, still sworn to his duty. That spell, it gave him a way to protect and serve." Xander paused, then pulled out a pair of dog tags that he wore under his shirt. Willow never noticed them before, but somehow, they seemed _right_ hanging around his neck.

"I have his memories, and his skills. I know tactics, and weapons. Military protocol and traditions, I know it all."

"But, when?" she asked quietly. "You didn't know all that stuff before. It was just kind of in the back of your head, glimpses of this stuff."

"It was," Xander conceded, "Until I found these dog tags a few months ago. Resting on a headstone, like they were waiting for me. I picked up the tags, read the name on them. But the name changed… to my own."

"Weird," Willow said quickly. "What if it was a trick, or some demon's idea of messing with you?"

"I knew it wasn't the minute I put them on," he still spoke softly, idly fingering the tags. "I spoke to Thomas, and he told me what he could do. And he told me the price I'd have to pay for that knowledge."

"What price," her voice was near breaking.

"Nothing much, really," Xander said, looking up and grinning. "He made me swear to fight evil any way I could, to protect the innocent, and always aid others in the fight. I told him, after, that it wasn't much change from what I already did. He said he knew."

*****

Her scream brought me runnin', my Slayer a scant step behind. If my heart was still beating, it would've skipped a beat or two. My 'Bit was being attacked, an' there was nothing I could do about it. The bone thing at the door of her room kept me from getting in, it's steel blade nearly takin' my bloody head off.

"Buffy!" I screamed, throwing myself flat as the steel whistled through the air, "Get to her!"

She didn't acknowledge me, just shoved past the thing as I leapt to my feet. The crippling punch I leveled at it didn't seem to faze it, and the steel blade bit deep into my shoulder. I couldn't keep the cry of pain from my lips, or the demon from my face.

"Bad move, mate," I growled, connecting with punch after punch. Nothin' I was doin' slowed the thing down, and the sword found my flesh twice more before it suddenly barreled past me, down the stairs, and out the front door.

Pushing the pain from my mind, I ran into the room, my 'eart in my throat. Buffy was 'urt, I could smell her blood the second I walked in. And 'Bit, she was gone.

"No," she wailed from her knees, the pain in her heart overwhelming the pain in her side, where steel drew blood. "Please, no..." The sound of gunfire downstairs didn't register to either of us, an' could've 'appened in fucking China for all we cared.

I could only collapse beside her and hold her, my demon hidden again, as we both cried. She was taken from us, again. I knew who took her, and the growl that escaped my throat brought us both back, our anger raging.

"The Necromancer," that bloody, piss-ant bastard would pay.

*****

He dropped to one knee, heedless of the broken glass beneath his jeans as he drew the gun smoothly. I only caught a glimpse of something moving across the lawn as he opened fire. Inside the house, the sound was deafening.

Two shots, and he was up and moving. Numbly, I followed him as he shot twice more. A creature of bone, I could see now. And the dark magics hung heavily around it. The thing was down now, both legs shattered by his expert shooting. I guess he did know how to use the weapon.

"Get everyone," he said coldly, his gun trained on the creature as it struggled to reach him. "They took Dawn."

*****

The gunshots caught my attention. Kinda like lighting a firecracker in a theater, really. The embrace was broken as we pushed away from each other, crouching low and looking for the shooter. It was then we saw the two skeletons, carrying Dawn at an impossible speed. 

"Michael," she said, running into the house. I knew. Fucking Necromancer.

I didn't follow her in through the back, instead running around the house and to my car. I drew my father's blade and continued to the front lawn, seeing Xander standing over the creature.

"We've got a problem," he said simply, and I knew it was on two fronts. Yeah, Dawn was taken, but the skeleton he'd downed was getting back up. I had seen these things before, and knew what it took to destroy them. Simply put, me.

Without hesitation, I leapt at the thing even as it brought it's blade to bear. The steel in it's fleshless grip was no match for my blade, and the steel shattered as my blade continued, biting deep and dispelling the dark enchantments on the creature. It collapsed like a pile of dry twigs, then seemed to melt into a foul smelling liquid.

The sensations I normally felt when wielding that blade were dulled by a more potent emotion: rage. I didn't know what he wanted with Dawn, but I definitely had a bad feeling as to what it was. I knew he had to be stopped, but I had no idea how to do it. I've never felt so helpless in my life.


	12. Shimmer

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes. 

A/N+1: Here comes the Spuffy, just might not be what you're all expecting. And for those of you eagerly awaiting the next chapter(s), please don't get mad at the next chapter or two. They'll be long, but I'm afraid of the people trying to kill me after the shit I put these poor people through. Sorry, but trust me. That's all I'm gonna say.

Title/Lyrics: "Shimmer", from Fuel. Spike doesn't own the rights, and neither do I, although we'll both use it to effect.

*******

__

"She calls me from the cold,

just when I was lone and feeling short of stable.

All that she intends, 

and all she keeps in side isn't on the label. 

She says she's ashamed, can she take me for a while.

Can I be a friend, we'll forget the past, but maybe I'm not able. 

And I break at the bend. 

Here and now, will we ever be again. 

'Cause I have found that all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade, away, again. 

She drinks to champagne dreams,

strawberry surpise, 

pink linen on white paper, 

lavender and cream, 

fields of butterflies, 

reality escapes us. 

She says that love is for fools that fall behind. 

And I'm somewhere between, never really knowing a killer from a savior. 

And I break at the bend,

Well, here and know, will we ever be again. 

And I have found, all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade, away, again. 

To far away for me to hold, to far away, no…

To far away for me to hold, to far away, no…"

Needless to say, I was a little surprised to see to see Spike playing a guitar on my back porch. He sang softly, his nimble fingers fairly dancing on the strings. I smiled softly as she remembered the song and sang the last few lines with him. He threw a grin at me over his shoulder as he finished the last few cords.

"Like it, pet?" he drawled, his eyes dancing as they roamed up and down my body. God, I loved when he did that. Yup, thought of 'love' and 'him' as in 'Spike' in the same thought. A run on thought at that. Hmm.... Spike grin 9.9B again.

"Yes," I replied, a little breathlessly. "Why were you playing that song?"

"Reminds me a bit too much of you, luv."

The truth of what he said hit a bit too close to home for me. I mean, I had been in a screwed up place for a while. Yea, I treated him badly. I felt sorry, and wanted to apologize so badly. I opened my mouth to do just that, but he moved with his quick, fluid grace. One finger stopped me from talking, first by pressing against my lips, then by tracing them with soft, feathered touches.

"I understand, Buffy," his voice was so soft, so full of love. "We've got work to do, and then we'll talk."

I guess my tear was enough of an answer, 'cause I couldn't talk even if I wanted too. Dawn was still missing, and here I was, thinking about making Spike scream my name. I felt bad; I felt lost. He was the only thing that made sense anymore, and that not by much. All I could think about a second later was the feel of his lips on mine, my hands on his back, pulling me closer. God, I wanted him.

He broke the kiss and turned me around, guiding me inside to where the rest of the group was gathering. With all the weapons we had accumulated over the last twelve hours, it looked like we were going to war. And in a way, we were.

*****

"You understand how to use that?" Michael asked Xander as he cleaned and oiled every piece of the M-16 on the table.

"I'm the one who put it at parade rest, wasn't I?" Xander replied, his voice cold. "I'll deal. You guys just worry about keeping the fuckers down for good once I shot them."

"Not a problem," Michael said, sliding the thin chainmail hauberk on. "Faith, Willow, you almost ready?"

"Yes," Willow answered first, her voice calmer than expected. She wore a belt with her jeans and sweater, and pouches hung from it. Each carried the spell components that she needed to counter some of the Necromancer's spells. "This is going to be hard, but I'm sure I'm up to it."

"Let's roll," Faith said, checking the knives strapped to her belt and boots. 

"So, we find where he is yet?" Buffy asked as she walked in, followed by Spike and his guitar.

"Same place Glory was last year," Xander said as he began quickly assembling the rifle. "I trailed some of his followers there about an hour ago, and Dawn was at the top of the construction."

Faith shivered visibly, but said nothing as Spike and Buffy strapped swords to their backs. She was still afraid of heights, mainly due to her fight with Buffy, and following coma. Swallowing her fear, she gripped Michael's hand.

"Spike, Faith," Michael began, "You'll ride with me. Xander, Willow, and Buffy, take Xander's truck."

"Plan of action," Buffy asked, her tone that of General Buffy. Damn anyone who got in _her_ way.

"Xander will take shots at anything in the way, while Spike and I will handle anything that bullets can't hurt. We'll clear a path for the ladies," this he said with a cold grin, "so you can get to Dawn. We'll follow up when we can."

"This fucker is going to pay for messing with my family," Buffy declared, and received everyone's agreeing nod as they strode out the front door, still on one hinge from the Council's earlier visitors. 

Let loose the hounds of war indeed.

*****

"You really shouldn't cry," the cloaked man said, high above the streets of Sunnydale. Dawn couldn't hold back her tears. She almost died here, and lost her sister her. This was a place of pain for her. And now, she was being threatened again.

"She'll stop you," she said between sobs. "She always wins."

"Perhaps," the man said, "But she's not the one I'd have to worry about, is it?" His voice was like dry leaves on pavement. "And I'll have a small surprise for the son James." He approached her, a dagger appearing out of the folds of his cloak. Dawn wanted to scream, tried to, but his magic held her silent and still.

"Just a prick," he said, poking the tip of her finger. A small drop of her blood hung from the tip of the dagger as he waved it into the air, his voice rising in mystic incantation. Slowly, a swirl of red began to form in the air about ten feet from the end of the girders.

"Glory," the man said derisively, "was an amateur, and a fool. There was no need to kill you, or hurt you as badly as she did." He glanced down at her, his glowing red eyes the only thing she saw beneath the cowl of the robe. "Unfortunately, it will take the sacrifice of one who carries your blood to close."

Freed from his magics but not the chains, Dawn could do nothing but cry as the portal opened.


	13. Into the Void

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N+1: Sorry for what's about to happen but, trust me, it's for the best. I've already caught some flak for this chapter, but I have plans. Lots of plans.

Title: From Nine Inch Nails, "Into the Void"

*****

Xander's tapping on the hood was the only signal they needed; Willow's foot slammed on the brake even as she cut the wheel, hard. The pickup's rear end swung to the left, giving Xander a clear field of fire at the gate to the construction site. The demons, humans, vampires, and walking dead were suddenly exposed to the crippling fire of the fifty-caliber machine gun, which Xander directed with a practiced eye. The rounds tore through flesh and bone, reducing the mass to moaning and screaming lumps of still flesh.

Buffy's door opened even as the Mustang pulled up behind the truck. Michael and Spike sprinted through the opening to the site as the Slayers and the wiccan walked purposefully past Xander, who held his M-16 at the ready, guarding their escape route.

The two men, neither fully human, broke for the only things guarding the elevator. The remaining two skeletal knights stood, swords at the ready, as Michael and Spike drove them back with a flurry of flashing steel propelled by otherworldly strength. Destroying strikes failed to land against either creature, because of the dark magics cast upon them by their master a few hours ago.

Blonde, brunette and redhead walked with even strides to the elevator, speaking no words and sparing no glances to the carnage they past. The steady rattle of the elevator bore them away from their lovers as they ascended to Dawn.

Spike ducked a wicked slash from his opponent and lashed out with booted foot, sending the creature down. His next three swings tore arms and head from the creature just before his senses warned him of a new threat. Ducking even as something large and sharp whistled overhead, he almost fell over from shock when he saw what he faced.

Michael quickly disarmed his opponent, his blessed steel rapidly disenchanting the risen bones. His final cut removed the skull as he turned to face the creature that now dominated the site.

It stood over seven feet tall, composed of dead flesh sewn together in a parody of human form. It wielded a huge axe of fused human bones, sharpened far beyond what was naturally possible. The blade moved with amazing speed as the creature alternated attacks at both Michael and Spike, who ducked and dodged with speed born of desperation.

*****

The elevator came to a stop at the highest point of the construction, and the three women saw Dawn instantly. Chained and apparently unharmed, they rushed to her even as they realized the threat inherent in the cloaked figure to her left and the shimmering red portal opening just out of reach.

"I knew you would come," the figure said, his voice powerful and deep. "Bait the hook, and the fish will bite. I'm surprised at this catch. Two Slayers," with his last words, he raised his left hand.

Faith and Buffy gasped as the dark magics took hold, lifting them off their feet by inches. Neither could move, or speak, as they hovered closer to the cloaked man.

"In case you are wondering," he said, "I am the Necromancer. I am your death."

He ignored Willow, which cost him dearly. Her form suddenly hummed with power as she raised her arms and chanted, her voice quick and sure. Buffy was the first to be freed from the spell, and her roundhouse caught the Necromancer even as Faith's feet touched the steel girders.

"How the...?" shock was evident on his voice as he reeled back, his hands working in intricate gestures as he tried to regain the advantage. Willow's hands continued their strange dance as she worked against him, and the Slayer's advanced, weapons drawn.

*****

"Any ideas?" Spike said, rolling from a wicked downward slash.

"Nope," Michael replied, dancing back from his counterattack. The thing had been nicked and cut a dozen times already, but seemed immune to the steel.

"They're in trouble up there," Spike replied as he dashed in, seeing an opening as the thing attacked Michael. His blade bit deep, but caused no damage even as the creature spun to attack him.

Of the three, only Spike saw Xander's entrance. The M-16 blazed in his hands, bullets tearing through the knees and elbows of the creature. It fell as the young man dropped his spent magazine and slapped a new one home. Barely a second and the gun was blazing again.

"Go!" Xander yelled above the gunfire. Spike and Michael sheathed their blades and began scaling the construction at inhuman speed. Glancing back, they saw Xander pull the pin of a grenade with his teeth and throw it at the creature's feet.

"Whelp's learned some new tricks," Spike chuckled as the creature was torn to pieces by the grenade's shrapnel

*****

Willow's magic, though powerful, was new to her. Against the Necromancer's seven centuries of practice, she stood no chance. The Slayers, strong and skilled, had no chance against him, because they could not hurt a being that felt no pain.

Spitting blood, Buffy pushed herself upright as the Necromancer approached. His hood had fallen during the brief fight, revealing the grinning skull of a long dead corpse. Too late they noticed the blazing red lights where his eyes should have been; too late they realized the power and death promised by those lights.

"Entertaining," he said, his voice again dry and cracking. "But now I'll have what I need. Two slayers. And, as a delightful bonus, the Key."

"Fuck you," Faith spat as she staggered to her feet. Cut by mystical blades conjured by the lich, she fought against the darkness that threatened to drag her down. "Fight's not over."

"I beg to differ," he said, turning to the portal. "The first of my true minions is stepping through this portal now. You're witch is dead, and the two of you are in no shape to fight me."

"But we are, mate," Spike's voice was like the answer to a pray for both Faith and Buffy. The blonde vampire held his blade low as he sauntered towards the lich in his cocky manner. The Necromancer's raised arm apparently didn't have the desired effect, as he stepped back from the three wounded women.

"I have dominion over the undead," the lich said. "Why do you not heed my commands?"

"Don't really bloody care," he said, "But I 'ave a feeling he's got something to do with it."

The lich turned to Michael, who was approaching with a purpose. The katana in the man's hand gave off a golden radiance that caused the lich to flinch.

"I know I can hurt you," Michael growled as he launched an attack. Thought is faster than even angelic speed, and the lich faded into nothing even as the blade clove the mist that hung where the Necromancer once stood.

"Get them down from here," Spike said softly as he worked the chains holding Dawn. "I'll get 'bit down."

Willow shook her head and stood as Michael lifted the now unconscious Faith into his arms. Buffy, waved away help as well, rising unsteadily to her feet. They moved to the elevator, only to be stopped by Dawn's scream.

The construction shook as two cloven feet stepped from the now open portal. The demon stood a good twelve feet tall, with red skin, wickedly clawed hands, and eyes that were blacker than the darkest night. In it's right hand it carried a many-lashed whip, which undulated with a life of its own.

"A pit fiend," Michael gasped, stumbling back even as Spike freed Dawn.

"The portal," she whispered between her tears. "Only my blood can close it. He said..." Sobs racked her body as Spike gathered her close.

Looking at the demon, Spike knew in his heart what he had to do.

"Sorry 'bit," he said as he bit her, gently, and tasted her blood. Her gasp of surprise barely registered as he pushed her towards her sister. The look of shock on Buffy's face was burned into his mind, and he steeled himself for what had to be done. It was fitting, that look of shock on the face of the woman he loved. With a growl, he turned and crouched.

In that split second before Spike entered the portal, he knew he'd been an amateur at torture, because that look caused him more pain than anything else in the world could. He knew that her face would haunt him in whatever afterlife awaited him.

Leaping with all the strength his vampiric form could muster, William dove through the portal. 


	14. Bullet With Butterfly Wings

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N: Sorry guys, Spike's gone. Don't kill me, trust me. It's for the story. A bit of heroic sacrifice to redeem the once remorseless killer. Trust me.

Title: A nod to Smashing Pumpkins this time, "Bullet with Butterfly Wings"

*****

Michael gently lay Faith into the elevator cage and ushered a screaming Buffy and crying Dawn in with her. Hitting the down button, he drew his blade again and faced of against a creature far to powerful for him alone. He knew he would die here, but he had to try. This thing could not be allowed to roam free, and Spike's sacrifice would not be in vain.

Willow stood by his side, her eyes clear and voice steady when she spoke. Her voice gave him confidence and her words gave him strength.

"Let's finish this."

Her first spell forced the demon off balance, driving daggers of force into it's chest. Michael's first powerful thrust buried deep in the pit fiend's chest, hurting it severely. It cried in pain, and Michael took hope in the sound as he spun behind the demon, ready to land a second blow.

His elation was cut short as the demon backhanded him as it spun, sending him flying from the construction. It was an act of sheer will that he still held his blade, it's golden radiance marking his unplanned flight.

"Just you and me now, witch," the demon's smooth, masculine voice promised her painful death. Willow raised her hands, becoming one with the magic, as she had only once before. Her call, born not of anger or hate, was answered. 

*****

Xander's truck was right by the elevator when it came to a stop, and the young man quickly loaded the wounded women into the back. Looking at Dawn's tears, he decided that this wasn't a good time to ask what happened. He lead her to the passenger seat and was almost behind the wheel when Faith's sudden scream caused him to look up.

Michael was falling. Faith had woke just in time to see him begin to fall, his sword's golden radiance marking his decent. Dawn and Xander, looking up, caught sight of him.

Suddenly, about halfway down, a flash of light enveloped his falling form. White feathered wings spread from his back as his fall was suddenly turned into a sudden ascent, and he sped back to the battle.

"Holy shit," Xander whispered..

*****

The whip crackled against the shield she raised, and the demon was forced back by the wall of air summoned by a gesture. Willow worked fast and hard, trying to defeat the demon but having no idea of how to. Suddenly she grinned and stopped her gesturing.

"Silly bitch," the demon growled, "I'll enjoy your screams before I kill you."

"No, you won't." Her simple, confident gave the creature pause, and it straightened quickly.

Willow could feel the power suddenly rising to the fight, and it took only a second for her to recognize the source. It bore the same power of the blade Michael carried. But it was a living thing.

The sudden appearance of steel in the demon's chest stunned and silenced it's query. Slowly, inexorably, the blade was forced upwards, as Michael cut the demon in half along it's spine. Hot gore splattered on the girders as the blade was forcefully torn from the demon's neck, nearly decapitating it. It fell, quivering, as Willow walked to the edge of the construction.

"Let's get out of here," Willow said as strong arms gripped her. The simple joy of flying was overshadowed by the reality of the battle, and the costs for such a stalemate. Spike was gone, both Faith and Buffy were severely wounded.

*****

Giles paid the taxi driver when the cab stopped in front of Buffy's home. He didn't notice the shattered door or broken windows until he reached the front porch, and his reaction was actually pretty mild, considering the wide variety of possibilities that could have lead to this destruction. He merely set his suitcase down, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

*****

"Maybe you two should take Dawn back to the house, get cleaned up," Michael said softly in the waiting room of the hospital the next day. "I'll wait here until you get back." The wings that had saved him during the fight were gone, having faded into a pale mist when his feet touched the ground. Xander and Willow didn't ask him about them, which was fine. He really didn't have any answers.

"She's not going to want to leave," Willow countered. "Neither do I, really. What happens if _he _tries something?"

"He won't," Michael replied, while Xander nodded his agreement. "We caused him one hell of a setback. That many minions destroyed in that short a time will send him to ground for at least a month or two."

Willow sighed, then turned to look at Dawn. She was passed out in a nearby chair, her face a mess due to her almost constant tears. Knowing it was the only thing to do, Willow nodded and went to wake her.

"One of us will be back shortly," Xander said. "I'm thinking it'll be best if she gets some sleep."

"Yea," Michael half answered, his gaze drawn to the rooms at the end of the hall, one in particular. Buffy was pretty beat up, but she'd taken worse. A few stitches, an IV, and she'd be alright. Faith, on the other hand, was hanging on to life by a thread. She'd lost far too much blood, and had a number of internal injuries. She slept, almost as if she was in a coma. The doctors said if she made it a few hours, she'd live.

"Relax," Xander said, "We know this is hard, but she'll pull through. She's just as tough as Buffy, and the Buff-ster's been down twice. Faith will be just fine."

"Take her home," Michael said softly as he walked down the hall to Faith's room. The nurse was about to say something to him, but Xander quickly pulled her aside and whispered something into her ear. The nurse nodded, glanced once more down the hall, and went about her business.

*****

"Giles!" Willow cried when she saw the older man sitting on the front porch. "What are you doing here?"

"I came because of…"

"The Necromancer," Xander finished, carrying the sleeping Dawn. "We've already run into him."

"Dear God," Giles gasped. "Buffy! Is she alright?"

"Loaded question, G-man," Xander replied. "Let me get Dawn to bed, then we'll fill you in."

"Just tell me Buffy's still alive," the watcher asked.

"Yes," Willow answered as Xander walked upstairs. "But she and Faith are in the hospital. Michael's there right now."

"Michael?"

Willow sighed, knowing that the explanations were going to be pretty damn long.

*****

Michael sat by her beside, gently holding her hand as she slept. A single tear escaped his eye as he watched her, his heart in his throat. The steady beeping of the machine in the corner should have given him hope, but the pain at seeing her like this made thinking a difficult thing.

When Willow and Giles walked into the room two hours later, they saw Michael passed out with his head resting on Faith's bed. The Slayer was sitting upright, a tender smile on her face, as she shushed them to silence. They left, content that she was healing. They knew sweet moments such as this would be few and far between in the conflict ahead.


	15. And I Have Not The Words

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N+1: Spike's gone (see my other WIP for that little adventure), Faith and Buffy were pretty badly hurt, and Giles is back in town.

Title/Lyrics: From Collective Soul's song 'On High'

*****

"How have things been?" he asked me, his voice soft with concern. His accent, his language, reminded me of him. I couldn't save him, never got the chance to. I was too hurt to stop him, and now he's gone. Just… gone.

"You miss him," he said after my lack of answer. He knew, somehow, and I was waiting for the recriminations, the scolding, the 'he's an evil soul-less monster' speech. Imagine my surprise when he spoke.

"I was wrong about him," he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He would do anything for you and Dawn, and now…" he sighed, "Apologies that are too late to be said hurt the most."

I must have been gaping, because he chuckled. His laughter stopped when my eyes filled with tears, and my vision became blurry. I could feel his arms around me as he pulled me closer. I cried onto his shoulder for a long time, and still the tears didn't stop.

"It's alright, Buffy," he whispered. "It'll be alright."

"I didn't even get to say goodbye to him," I managed to get out between my sobs. "He just…"

"He did what he needed to do. Dawn needs you, and he was the only other way to close the portal."

"I need him," I whispered, tears still flowing freely.

"I'll take you to your room," he said, helping me to my feet in such a fatherly fashion. "Try saying goodbye to him. Even if he's gone, I think he'll be able to hear you."

An old snatch of a song drifted through my head, and I'm not sure if it calmed me down or made me cry. I'm definitely Buffy-bot right now. Just going through the motions of living. 

__

'And I have not the words to write,

A farewell to you tonight.

Maybe God you've found,

Maybe is all that you can offer now.

And I know hearts are weeping 

while your voice is now singing on high,

Angel on high.'

*****

"How do you think she's taking it?" Xander asked Willow as he stowed the machine gun in his garage. It was resembling an armory now, with various pistols, rifles, shotguns and ammunition precisely placed.

"Not to well," the redhead answered, flipping through the tome Giles gave her. "I really think she loved him."

"I'm getting that feeling too," he murmured, taking down an assault rifle and beginning to clean it. "I guess he really did love Buffy and Dawn. Self-sacrifice and all, didn't know he had it in him."

"Well, we need to find out where that portal opened up to," Willow said as she continued to flip pages. "Maybe we can learn something that can hurt that evil, scary, dead guy."

"I'm willing to try high velocity, large caliber bullets," the sudden _snap _as he let the slide go forward. "Not much that can stand being shot to pieces."

"Except him," Willow said. "No matter how much we tried, we couldn't hurt him."

"But Mike could."

"True, but his sword is special, and he's…. well, kinda better equipped for that kind of stuff."

"I'm wondering what was up with the wings and stuff," now he was cleaning a pistol. "And if that's all he can do, or if he's got more super powers waiting to surprise us."

"I really don't think he…" she paused suddenly, reading the page she had turned to with a sudden interest. "Hold on a sec…"

"What'cha find?" Xander asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I don't think Spike died."

*****

"So, the portal, 'cause it was opened with such a small amount of blood, certain prices had to be paid for passage," Willow explained to Giles an hour later. Buffy was sleeping upstairs, but Willow wanted to make sure of what she found before she got her friend's hopes up. "Going from there to here, it was a free ride. But going through this side to there cost…"

"A spirit, demon, or soul," Giles said as he looked up. "I still don't understand how you think he survived that."

"Because of the blood," Willow said excitedly. "It opens doors, portals, pathways. And I think Spike got his soul back, as if the blood opened a portal _inside _of him."

"That's a bit of a reach, Willow."

"Not really Giles. It says here that..."

" 'The Key will serve to protect those who did it service.' I guess, maybe..."

"We both know how he was always looking after Dawn."

"Alright, that still doesn't help us find him, even if he is alive and well."

"I'm going to cast a simple divination," Willow said as she filled a bowl of water from the sink and set it on the counter. "I should be able to see Spike if he's alive. I just need something of his to serve as a link for the magic."

"He left his lighter on the couch," Giles said, pulling the plain Zippo from his pocket. "I sat on it last night."

"That'll work," Willow beamed. "Now, just keep quiet until the water shows a clear picture."

Giles nodded as Willow began chanting softly. The water began to darken and swirl, until it was pitch black. Willow continued to chant, the incantation flowing faster from her lips. Giles gave a small grin as the water began to clear, from the center of the bowl first. When the view steadied, the water stopped spinning.

"I don't see him," Giles said, peering into the water. "And it's sunlight, so I doubt he'd be outside."

Giles realized he spoke too soon when a familiar blonde haired man walked through the clearing. The view shifted and began to follow him, as he walked through the tall grass, blade in hand. He wore the same black clothing he had worn that night, but he'd added a sword belt under his duster, and his clothing looked mended.

"I guess he's alright," Willow said happily. "Now we just have to find a way to get him home."

"That'd be nice, Red."

Willow and Giles both nearly jumped out of their skins when Spike's voice drifted from the bowl. They could make out his smirk as he looked around, trying to find something.

"Spike?" Willow asked, "You okay?"

"Bloody well enough," the vampire answered. "'Cept I didn't remember how tiring walking all over the bloody place was."

"Spike," Giles said, "Can you hear me?"

"Well enough, Rupes."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Not really, but I've got a name for you to find. Myth Drannor. Big city, with elves and dwarves and shit."

"Myth Drannor…" Giles repeated thoughtfully. "We'll look into it, and try and contact you in a few days."

"Why didn't you try this before?" Spike asked. "Took you long enough to figure I might not be dead."

"It's been only two days!"

"Relax Red. Guess I should've known that there'd be a bit of a difference."

"Spike? How long to you think it's been?"

"Three weeks, Red. Three bloody weeks."

"Alright, we'll get Buffy here next time. Okay?" Spike's eyes seemed to loose focus at the mention of her name, and could only nod.

"Be careful Spike," Giles said. "We'll try and get you back quickly."

"Thanks Rupes."

*****

I came so close to loosing her, and it scared me more than I want to admit. She'd lost so much blood, her body had been cut so badly. My own heart seemed to cease beating while I waited for her to stabilize, waited for her to get well again. I didn't sleep much that first day, or the second day for that matter. Yet, other things kept me awake the second night.

What happened to me up there was frightening, but at the same time, it felt _right. _My father had been able to fly, and his father before him, but I always thought my heritage was too human for that. Now, I'm not so sure. 

Something my father said to me when I was younger came back to me. Something that I never really understood until, well, now.

_"Your strength and your speed don't come from hate, or rage. They come from the emotions that Angels fight for. Love and laughter, my son. Keep love in your heart and laughter in your head."_

I didn't understand how I was supposed to be able to laugh and love while I fought, but somehow, I did. Memories of her lips, her eyes, her voice. Small jokes we shared; long nights spent just holding each other. I finally understood what my father had been trying to tell me. I guess I'm a little slow at times.

She is so beautiful when she sleeps, even the slight snore she has when she sleeps on her back. She's resting in our bed now, safer at home than in the hospital. She'll carry some scars with her, but her Slayer healing seems to be taking care of the worst of it. The doctors weren't sure if she'd live, but my girl is stronger than they think.

I carefully close the bedroom door and walk to the living room, sitting on the couch. Within seconds, the phone is in my hand, and my fingers punch in the number for Buffy's house. Thankfully, her Watcher picked up. I really didn't feel like talking to Dawn or Buffy, really. I'm not really good at listening to people grieve.

"Summer's residence." 

"It's Michael," I said quickly. "I'm just calling to see how Buffy's doing."

"She's sleeping right now, but she'll be better in the morning."

"That soon?"

"I think the good news will make her feel much better. Spike's alive, in another world, but alive."

Well, will wonders never cease.

*****

I love waking up like this. Curled up next to him, needing nothing but to feel his warmth beside me. I still don't know what I did to deserve him. Or my second chance to do my duty. Or the forgiveness of everyone I've tried to kill. Someday I'll have to ask them why, maybe get a straight answer. Right now I'm afraid that they'll wake up and realize what they're doing.

I'm still hurting from that fight with old bones, and the sight of Michael falling still chills me to the bone. I passed out then, and I have no clue how he survived that fall. Another thing to ask him. Later.

I pull myself closer to him, my head resting over his heart. The steady, strong beat that I've grown to know so well. I can't keep my eyes open, and I'm done with the proverbial soul-searching. Right now all I want is two more hours of sleep, with him. 

*****

"That was impressive," he said, his hood thrown back without care. The wispy strands of hair that hung to what remained of his scalp danced wildly in the air. "They all should have died, instead that half-breed manages to ruin _all _of my plans."

He cocked his head to one side, as if listening to someone talk. With a shallow grin, he nodded and walked into his abode. It was dark and terrifying, suiting him to the hit. Shortly after, the sound of chanting could be heard.

Thinks weren't done yet. Not by a long shot.


	16. Fuel

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N+1: Time to step this up a bit. Let us see how this progresses.

Title/lyrics: Borrowed from Metallica, 'Fuel' is a great song.

*****

"He's alive," Buffy said, her voice soft with awe. Fresh tears streamed down her face as it broke into a bright smile. "He's alive."

"In more ways than one," Willow reminded her, flopping backwards onto the couch. The divination spells were tiring when one was reaching across so many planes, but it was definitely worth the look on Buffy's face. Spike's face as well, although details were a little bit fuzzy this time. The mage who she spoke with, Spike passing on her words to him, told her it was the magic of the city he was in. She vaguely wondered what it would be like to live in such a place, but quickly dismissed it. They had a demon led army ready to raze it.

"Now we just have to work on getting him back home," Dawn said excitedly. 

"It's not going to be simple," Willow said. "And most of the magic has to come from his end. I'm just acting as a beacon, this way he gets to the right place and time."

"He's alive," Buffy said again, not really paying much attention to the other two. After all, how often does someone come back from the dead? Well, some people just tend to be the exception to that rule.

"Willow," Giles walked into the room, his shirt slightly rumpled from a long night of tiring research, "Have you heard from Faith or Michael? I have some questions that he might be able to answer."

"They went to take care of some vampires just out of town," Dawn answered for Willow, who was barely keeping her eyes open. "He said he'd call when there done, but that it would most likely be late."

"He's having some fun with this one," Buffy put in absentmindedly.

Giles merely raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant.

*****

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Michael asked as he pulled his Mustang to the race's starting line. Faith flashed him a smile and got out of the car, the tight leather skirt was damn short, and the 'shirt' she wore hung off one shoulder and barely covered her chest.

"Five-by-five," her predictable reply floated in just as she shut the door.

"Fucking slayers," he said, the grin on his face at odds with his statement. He was still grinning when he stepped out of his car.

The three import cars also on the line were fast, there was no doubt, but he was sure his own vehicle was faster. After all, he had spent many long hours modifying the already powerful engine and knew it well.

Faith's worried glance drove any thoughts of the race from his mind, and he quickly scanned the crowd that had gathered for the race. It was then that he realized that each and every one of them were vampires, and that he'd walked right into a trap.

*****

"Fuck." Things were bad. Real bad, since there were a couple dozen armed vampires approaching us, game faces on. I'd never been in a bind like this. And yet, I didn't feel the fear I was expecting. After all, I had an ally in this one, someone as strong and quick as myself. I felt a familiar energy in my arms, legs, and heart. I hadn't felt like this since the last time B fought side by side with me.

Michael reached into the car and pulled out his father's sword, and I followed suit, pulling the katana I'd been using. Flashing Michael a dazzling smile, I drew the blade and turned to face the vamps.

"You guys sure about this?" Yup, I guess that witty remarks are part of the Slayer heritage. "The odds aren't in you're favor." I knew Michael was smirking at that one.

"A Slayer and a mortal," one vampire said, a tall, lean man in life, "We'll take our chances."

They charged us then, and my blade sang as I blocked a half dozen strikes in a matter of seconds. I moved forward, staying on the defensive, as I sought to move away from the car and get some room to fight. I felt the slight breeze of a near hit, and that really pissed me off. Fuck defensive, time to take some fucking heads.

I blocked a slash from a vampire on my left, twisting to face him as I drove the blade high. With my Slayer quickness, I brought my sword down and left, taking his head. I threw myself into a roll through the dust to avoid to cuts that would have hurt. I wonder how Michael's doing...

*****

They rushed me, obviously ignorant of my heritage, or my blade. Their loss. The katana sang free from the sheath, it's golden radiance causing the first vampire to pause, and I took advantage of my foe's mistake, killing him with a wicked slash across the chest. 

I had a distinct advantage here, since my blade could kill a vampire without the need to behead it. The vampires were slow to realize this, and I had five down before they started to defend against my attacks. Even so, I was faster than they were, and had no difficulty dropping four more before I began working my way over to Faith.

She wasn't having to much trouble on her end, save for the fact that she needed to take heads to kill them. Still, she moved with a fluid and deadly grace, taking limbs and heads almost as quickly as I did. I couldn't help but smile, and I settled into a comfortable rhythm, taking the vampire's down as quickly as I got them within my reach.

*****

Soon, the only sound either of them heard was the quick breathing from the other. Smiling broadly, Faith sauntered over to Michael. He returned her grin as his father's sword slid into its sheath.

"That was fun," she whispered softly, their bodies almost touching.

"A decent workout," Michael returned, his own voice low. "What now?"

Faith seemed to think about it for a moment before her free arm wrapped around his neck and she kissed him. His arm made its way around her waist and he pulled her closer. They stood like that for some time, lost in the feel of each other's lips. When Faith finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless and unwilling to break the embrace.

"Can I drive?" Faith asked a moment latter, smiling sweetly to Michael.

Moments later, the Mustang sped along the highway leading to Sunnydale. She broke the speed limit by a healthy margin, but handled the car skillfully. They'd be back in less than an hour the way she drove.

The song playing on the radio might have had a little to do with her reckless speeding.

__

Oooo, I burn, fuel is pumping engines,

Burning hard, loose, clean...

At night I burn, churning my direction,

Quench my thirst with gasoline.

*****

He exited the underground crypt, uncaring of the musty smell, or the undead guardians that watched his passage with glowing red eyes. He ducked through the low archways in an absentminded manner, and brushed aside the cobwebs in the same casual manner. The black boots he wore crunched the loose stones, occasionally kicking a bone out of his path.

Although he looked young, there was an air of power that hung heavily around him. Rats and insects scurried out of his path, sensing the truth behind the flesh. His brown eyes looked hard, hiding an awful intellect behind them.

"Time to have some fun," his voice came from a living mouth, but there was no doubt this was the Necromancer. He was laughing as he stepped under the night sky.

*****

The ringing of the phone broke the line of concentration that Giles had been on for an hour now. Heaving a sigh, he walked over to the damn thing and picked it up.

"Summer's Residence," he said, barely able to keep his annoyance from being clearly carried by his tone.

"Giles?" the voice on the other line was definitely familiar. "When did you get back in town?"

"Four days ago," he answered.

"Well, I guess it's better to tell you then." It was Angel, something the Brit was slightly annoyed at. "I've found out what you need to kill the Necromancer."

"Really?"

" His name is, or was, Daevanus. That's the only thing I could find in that regard, but there was something more interesting in the passage. Quote, _The highest practitioner of the dead arts can only be defeated by the faith of the fallen._"

"Faith of the fallen?" the ex-watcher questioned. "That doesn't sound to promising."

"It does, if you happened across a passage from another book, one that has nothing to do with him. It's a long bit of a poem, and I had the book sent to you. It should have arrived today."

"Let me check," Giles said, taking advantage of the cordless phone by moving to the front door. Sure enough, a plain brown parcel was sitting by the door, forgotten in the events of the day. "I'm going to read it over and I'll call you back."

"Alright," the vampire replied. "I'll be waiting."

Giles hung up the phone and sat at the kitchen counter, opening the book to the page that Angel had book-marked for him. There, quite plainly written in English, he found the passage and read it. A pause, then he read it a second time. Finally, he got up and walked to the phone again. The open book sat on the counter.

__

Four who seek to end the reign of a dark and terrible man,

Shall return to the site of old power.

There they shall face the four guardians of the ancient place:

the Flame of Heaven;

the Winds of Change;

the Waters of Peace;

the Strength of Stone.

For the Faith of the Fallen they shall strive,

Restoring the cycle of life and death,

To the one who cheated it so long ago.

*****

A/N: Yes, I used my pen-name for the Necromancer. It's not his true name, however, or the one he uses now. Stay tuned, read, and review.


	17. Blind

__

Disclaimer: Only own Michael, the Necromancer, all others belong to JW.

A/N: Time to step this up a bit. Let us see how this progresses.

Title: Korn, 'Blind'. Got to admit, Listening to a lot of early Korn while writing this stuff. Most likely more than what's healthy for me...

*****

"So, tomorrow night?" Xander asked Willow as they walked hand in hand down the street to his house. "You think you're ready for it?"

"Of course," she answered, giving him a brilliant smile. "I'm only lighting a signal fire so the spell brings him to the right world."

The cracking of twigs and leaves brought their attention to the small graveyard they were passing, both readying themselves for a fight. Willow's hands came up, her fingers tense, but still. Xander drew his pistol from his waistband with lightning speed. What they saw caused them both to pause.

"What the fuck...?" Xander said.

*****

Faith and Michael were sprawled on the couch, taking full advantage of their night off. Thankfully, the current situation in Sunnydale, being that there were so many people capable of patrolling, meant that it wasn't an every night thing for any one person. 

They were watching a movie, Faith's choice tonight. Thankfully, it wasn't a sappy romance or 'chick-flick'. _We Were Soldiers _was definitely a gory movie, one who's underlying message they both understood. Courage, loyalty. Never leaving you're own behind. Doing one's duty, even when it hurt.

Suddenly, they both sat up, sensing _something _amiss in Sunnydale. Faith got up and began putting on her boots, as Michael did the same. 

"Just once..." she muttered, hearing Michael's answering chuckle.

"Yea, right," he answered her unfinished thought, shaking his head as he reached for his father's sword.

*****

_Spike's alive, _she thought, smiling to herself. That in itself was a comfort, one she had desperately needed. The second comfort, following close on the heels of the first, was that he was coming back, and soon. She missed his smirks, his swagger, his leather. She missed _him._

Giles watched with some alarm as she suddenly stopped smiling and jumped to her feet. He knew her senses were better that his own, but was definitely _not _expecting the sudden, oppressive weight of darkness that seemed to settle over the house.

"Stay and watch Dawn," the Slayer said quickly, grabbing one of her favorite axes as she hurried out the door. 

"Oh, dear," Giles said as he got up, locking all the doors and checking the pistol Xander had given him the other day. One round chambered, safety off, and two more magazines in his pocket.

*****

"Any ideas?" Xander asked, his gun trained on the nearest of the walking corpses.

"Keep them off of me for a minute," the witch answered, suddenly going into a deep trance, murmuring slightly as she swayed, slightly, from side to side.

"Alright." The report of his gun was loud in the eerie silence that had descended upon the street. Absent was the gently music of the insects, gone was the cry of a nocturnal raptor. All that was there was the gunfire, and Willow's chanting.

His first shot took the leg off of the nearest zombie-thing, still over twenty yards away. It fell, but resumed its approach by crawling, albeit at a much slower pace. Xander decided to conserve his ammo as much as possible, and took out the faster moving corpses first, aiming at knees and shins. He hoped Willow did something soon.

He only had forty-five rounds, and there were a hell of a lot more of them than that.

*****

"Walk or ride?" Faith asked as they exited the apartment.

"Run," Michael said, pointing his unsheathed blade towards a nearby cemetery, where he could make out the shambling forms of the walking dead. They were all moving to the far end of the cemetery.

"Go," she replied as she turned back into the apartment. "I've only got a stake. I'll meet you there." He nodded and took off at a quick jog, the glow from his blade becoming brighter as he approached the horde.

*****

Buffy saw Xander standing in front of Willow, his gun moving slightly as he picked off targets carefully. The zombies where almost at the cemetery wall, a mere eight feet from them. Thankfully, they moved slow, and she was easily able to cover the short distance before the walking dead did.

"Calvary's here," she said cheerfully as she brought the axe clean through the moldy corpse that stumbled over the wall.

"Keep them from Wills," Xander said as he backed off a bit, putting the last mag in his gun. "She's trying something."

"Pretty simple," the blonde said as she clove her second zombie in two. "You see the rest of the group?"

"I can see Michael's sword, I think," he answered as he scanned the street behind them quickly. "He's on the other side of this mess."

"Thought so," she said, ducking a clumsy swing from an almost-skeletal corpse. "Get a bigger gun, quickly."

"Five minutes," Xander said as he turned down the street and ran at a dead sprint. He knew he was pretty much useless without ammo, especially against things that didn't feel pain.

"Three hundred count," the slayer mused, knocking the corpses back with her tight, powerful swings.

*****

Faith barely noticed him as she ran to the apartment, her mind already going through the battle ahead. Unfortunately, she would never make it to that fight, as the strange man knocked her out could as she ran past, his powerful fist aided by her momentum. Her last thoughts were amazingly Faith-esque.

_What the fu...._

*****

True to his word, Xander was back in five minutes, almost to the second. Buffy was tiring, but Willow had yet to move from her trance. Neither of them would leave her undefended.

"Buffy, down!" Xander shouted, and she complied without conscious thought, falling flat on her back. A good thing she did, because the load roar of his shotgun, and the damage it did to the now-crowding corpses would have been painful.

The Slayer rolled to her right and quickly regained her feet as Xander filled the air with rounds from the semi-automatic shotgun he held. With a quick and sure movements, he shot and reloaded, shot and reloaded. He seemed like he had things under control, mainly due to the fact the zombies were being tore to pieces by his well chosen weapon.

"Buffy!" Willow's voice was almost a surprise, and thankfully Buffy wasn't actually fighting right then. That would've been messy. "You've got to help Faith!"

"What?"

"He's taken her!" Who definitely wasn't very specific, but she had a feeling she knew who. Nodding once to Willow, Buffy took off running in the direction that Willow was pointing. All the while, there had been no stop to Xander's firing.

Taking in a deep breath, Willow began chanting. She only hoped she had enough power to stop the spell working here.

*****

Michael's blade sang as he cut a deep swath into the enemy's lines, limbs flying as he cut like a scythe through grain. It was the fall harvest, and he was doing the reaping. Damn Necromancer, ruining a nice, quiet evening with his lady. Damn his black heart.

The strange thing was, the mob was bent on someone on the far side of the cemetery, and they never even turned to face him. This was odd, because the undead usually turned to fight the greatest threat, unless they had been given some specific instructions.

He could feel the rise of the witch's power nearby, almost directly in front of him, and suddenly knew exactly what they were after. Her and the young man were patrolling tonight, which meant that whomever cast this spell wanted them out of the picture. Not a bad idea, strategically speaking. Take out as much support for the big guns as possible, then move in for the kill.

Grinning savagely, Michael nearly missed the voice of alarm at the back of his head. When he finally did hear it, it was too late.

_Faith._

*****

Buffy found him easily enough. Hard not to, really, since he was walking with two large, Frankenstein things, one of which carried Faith, and the other carried some dark-haired woman, who's form tugged at the edge of Buffy's mind.

"So good of you to join us," he said, turning to face her. "I was wondering when you would fall into my little trap."

"What makes you thin..." Pain blossomed in her mind, and darkness rose to claim her. Too late, she realized that he had three of those monsters with him.

*****

"... _return to you're rest!" _she shouted, her voice growing hoarse towards the end of her chanting. Thankfully, it was over, as the bodies seemed to be dragged back into the graves, as if by some unseen hand pulling invisible strings. They both looked at Michael as he came running up, slightly frightened by the tears of anger and pain in his eyes.

"He's fooled us," he said quietly. "A neat little trap, and now he has what he's really wanted this entire time." He paused for a moment, wiping the tears from his eyes with his free hand. He visibly gathered himself for his next words, two words that would rock the very foundation of their world.

"Both Slayers."

Willow and Xander stood, mouths agape, at his words. Suddenly they felt so lost, so hopeless. But the steel determination that suddenly filled Michael's eyes gave them a small measure of hope. They would get them back.

Or die trying.

*****

The next morning, while everyone remaining was planning on how to rescue Buffy and Faith, Giles walked to the cemetery that the attack happened in. From the descriptions they had given him, and the dreams he had the last night, he knew what he would find. His heart already sinking, he found his worst fears realized.

There was one grave that remained empty, it's coffin pulled from the ground and left open and empty. Tears filled his eyes for a brief moment before his anger pushed the pain from his heart. He walked back to Buffy's house with determination and righteous anger clear in his gait.

The stone marker on the now-empty grave brought up memories of failure, loss, and regret. The name brought up feelings he thought long buried with the occupant of that coffin. The name, different from the one he had called her. And it was that name that ran though his mind as he walked back.

_Jenny Calendar._


	18. Loser

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N+1: Hope everyone is enjoying this little adventure. I'm thinking of maybe five more chapters in this story, before I move onto the next story. And I'm pretty sure Ripper would kill me for bringing his dead kinda-girlfriend back from the dead. But, hey, it might even work out for the best.

Title: Three Doors down, with 'Loser'

*****

Michael paced the living room like a caged animal, his strides sharp with his fluid grace and strength. His eyes clouded with his anger, his impotent rage. The shadow of a beard clung to his face, and his clothing was wrinkled, as he hadn't slept since they were taken.

Xander sat on the couch, lost in his own thoughts. He fought down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, but only by a slim margin. His normal jovial manner was lost in the seriousness of the situation.

Willow sat beside Xander, her head held in her hands, her short red hair hanging limply around her face. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and she held them back by a mere fingernail. She tried to turn her mind to finding a solution, but was finding it increasingly difficult.

Giles leaned against the doorframe, his glasses held in his hand and his face etched with determination. He simply refused to believe that this was it, that this was where he would loose his slayer. Already, a hint of a plan was beginning to form within his head.

Dawn sat on the floor in front of Willow and Xander, still in a state of shock. To say that she still hadn't recovered from her own capture at the hands of the Necromancer was an understatement. His red eyes haunted her dreams in sleep as well as waking.

"Do we know where he'll attempt this ritual?" Giles asked suddenly, causing Michael's pacing to end suddenly. The younger man thought for a moment, then shrugged.

"I'm not sure," Michael said. "It is most likely directly on the Hellmouth, or in a place that has a great deal of evil, undead energy."

"The Master's lair," Xander whispered. "That's where he'll do it."

"What?" Giles asked, moving closer to Xander and crouching slightly. "What did you say?"

"The Master's lair," the brunette repeated, his face growing more thoughtful. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Yes," the watcher replied, rising and beginning to pace himself. "You three, gather your things and get down there as fast as possible. Maybe we can interrupt the ritual, and rescue Buffy and Faith."

"It's not going to be that easy," Michael spoke, his anger now being harnessed for a specific purpose. "He'll have a hell of a lot of guardians, but at least we won't have to deal with his magic, since the ritual will leave him powerless for a time."

"I've got an idea," Willow spoke up, for the first time that day. "You and Xander go, I'll make sure the ritual is interrupted."

"What are you thinking?" Giles asked. Then he grinned as the witch explained the plan. They all grinned.

*****

_Fuck, my head hurts, _was the first thought to enter her mind as she regained consciousness. Vague awareness of her surroundings filtered into her head, followed by fear. Buffy struggled against the chains that held her almost a foot above the ground, ignoring her nudity in the face of more dire problems.

She glanced at Faith, whose head still hung limply between her upraised arms. Her sister slayer was chained in the same manner, and also missing her clothing. It was then Buffy's gaze drifted to the small stone altar between them, and to the black clad form lying upon it. Jenny Calendar, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

"Enjoying yourself, Ms. Summers?" a low voice said from somewhere behind her. She knew the voice, even though it issued from a living throat. That voice held nothing but malice and death for her.

"Just hanging around," she quipped. He laughed casually, but the sound was evil considering her situation. 

"It will be over soon," the necromancer said, still somewhere behind her. "You and the other slayer will be dead, and your powers will be mine. There is absolutely nothing that can be done to save you."

"You underestimate the power of the Scoobies," she replied, the prayer in her voice easy to recognize. "They'll find a way to stop you. The good guys always do."

"I doubt it."

*****

The need for surprise was long past. The enemy knew they were coming, that they had no choice but to charge headlong into his strength. It had come down to a test of might, both sides throwing everything they had available into the fray.

Xander delved deep into his borrowed military knowledge, letting the marine within to come to the fore, depending on a dead man's skill to carry the day. In truth, the soul of that soldier was long gone, having given every once of knowledge and skill to Xander. Whether he realized it or not, the young man _was _the marine, he was the veteran of combat, and would carry the day with his own courage.

Michael threw aside any doubt in his own abilities, concerned only that the woman he loved was in danger. Like the avenging angels of old, he was prepared to carry the wrath of God to his enemy. Righteous anger filled him, giving him strength and determination that would never be stopped.

Both men walked through the sewers of Sunnydale, depicting warriors from two very different ages, but with a purpose that bound both times.

Xander looked every inch the marine, his combat fatigues almost hidden under his weapons of destruction. Hand grenades, flash-bangs, and extra magazines for his guns, hung from his belt. His sidearm was strapped to his left leg, and a shotgun was holstered on his back. The M-16 he carried was equipped with a grenade launcher and flashlight. His Kevlar armor covered him from the neck down, but he didn't wear a helmet, avoiding the impediments the helmet would inflict upon his hearing and line of vision. The earpiece and microphone he wore allowed him to keep in contact with Giles, who stayed with Willow as she prepared her spell.

Michael wore sturdy chainmail over a padded tunic. He looked every inch the knight as he followed a step behind Xander, his blade sheathed. No sense in giving the enemy an exact position on them.

"His first line of defense should be just ahead," Xander said softly. "This is the only path that leads to the old lair."

"Well," Michael said, his voice just as low, "let's get this started."

Xander nodded once and relayed their intentions to Giles. When he got a reply, he raised his rifle and quickly turned the last corner. He was prepared for whatever trap or guardian the Necromancer would use.

The first room, a man made cavern from ages past, housed hell-hounds. Xander remembered them vaguely from his one encounter with them years ago, but they failed to cause him any concern now. After all, he had seen and battled much worse, and was much better equipped this time around. His face held nothing but detachment as his finger gently depressed the trigger; his eyes shifted quickly from target to target as he quickly took them down.

Michael followed Xander as the other man strode through the carnage, his blade still sheathed. Nothing that challenged them at the moment required his blade, and he was glad for it. Wielding his blade took more time than Xander's rapid fire weapon, and time was something they had precious little of.

*****

Giles stood outside the circle of magic Willow had drawn on the hardwood floor, his right hand holding a battle axe, his left hand kept a loose grip on a pistol. He had a simple assignment, one he knew he would complete: Keep anything from disturbing Willow until the spell was complete.

The witch was deep within a trance, her legs folded beneath her and her hands tracing unknown patterns in the air. She had been like this for almost an hour now, and the ex-watcher was beginning to worry. She hadn't said it would take this long...

Suddenly, she opened her eyes and took in a deep breath. Her eyes were wide, and a smile began to creep onto her face. Giles relaxed, if only slightly. This was only part of the plan.

"It's done," she said unnecessarily. Giles merely nodded.

*****

Buffy watched him as he chanted his ritual, not understanding a word of the ancient language he used. He knelt by Jenny's head, his chest bare and holding a wickedly curved ceremonial dagger. His eyes had remained closed since the beginning of the ceremony.

She struggled against the chains that held her, to no avail. Something he had done sapped her strength, and she could already feel the oppressive weight of his magic fill the room. The faint sound of gunfire gave her hope, reassuring her that the cavalry was on the way. She just hopped they would arrive soon. Faith remained unconscious the entire time, causing Buffy to worry. Despite their past, Buffy couldn't help but worry.

Suddenly, the Necromancer rose to his feet, his eyes snapping open. For a brief moment, Buffy thought he finished the ritual, and that her friends wouldn't make it in time. The sudden look of shock on the man's face, followed by his rapid scanning of the room, gave her hope.

"It seems I have under-estimated your friends," he said calmly. "I definitely wasn't expecting this."

Buffy opened her mouth, but someone else beat her to the smart remark, someone whom she didn't realize was in the room.

"Well then, mate. I've been lookin' forward t' this. Got myself a fancy piece of steel, an' I'm plannin' on givin' you a taste."

*****

"Did it work?" Giles asked as he helped Willow to the couch.

"Yup," the witch said tiredly. "Spike's right were we needed him, and the ritual was interrupted."

"Good," Giles murmured. "Now they just need to get out of there in one piece."

*****

Spike. He was back.

Buffy couldn't help but grin as the peroxide haired man stalked forward, a long, heavy sword held easily in one hand. The torchlight in the chamber glinted off the chain armor he wore, and cast foreboding shadows across his face.

The Necromancer switched the dagger to his left hand, and spoke a word of magic. With a small tearing sound, a blade of absolute darkness snapped into being, held easily in his right hand. He lightly bounced on the balls of his feet, facing Spike calmly.

"I've been around a great deal longer than you, leech," he said, his voice low and calm. "Do you really think you can beat me in a clean fight?"

"'Course I can," Spike replied savagely as he began stalking forward, remaining just out of the other's reach. "The thing is, you never fight fair, do you?"

The Necromancer smiled.

"'Ere's the thing, mate. Neither do I"

It was then both the Necromancer and Buffy realized the gunfire had ceased, and that there were two more people in the room. Xander and Michael, both of whom entered the room cautiously. Xander began walking over to her as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. Michael drew his blade and approached the Necromancer, standing so that his enemy was trapped between Spike and himself.

"Interesting," the Necromancer said, his voice still calm.

"Quite," both Spike and Michael replied in unison. At another time, this would have been cause for some amusement, but now they were both deathly serious. The Necromancer turned so that his conjured sword faced Michael, while the dagger faced Spike.

They suddenly exploded into motion, Michael and Spike attacking with speed and skill rarely seen in this world. Their blades sung as they cut through the air, and the sound of steel on steel filled the chamber.

Amazingly, the Necromancer was holding his own. Apparently his earlier boast was truth, as his moved with a fluid grace that matched the other two men. It was a dance, pure and deadly. For long moments they battled, none gaining the upper hand, each waiting for a mistake to provide an opening. Yet, it wasn't a mistake that provided an opening. It was Xander.

He had gotten Buffy's chain's undone, and turned to face the swordfight. He merely observed for long moments, stunned and worried at the skill all three possessed. An idea came to him suddenly, and he acted without a second thought, giving an insurmountable advantage to Michael and Spike.

Xander's pistol was up suddenly, his aim was set in an instant, and the sudden report of the round being fired startled everyone in the room, except for himself... and Spike.

The young man's aim was true, the bullet tore through the Necromancer's left forearm in a sudden gout of blood. He lost control of that hand, and the dagger clattered on the stone floor. Spike's blade, no longer being countered, lanced forward, catching the Necromancer between the ribs. He crumbled, the black blade winking out of existence. A startled gasp, and he died.

The four conscious people in the room looked at each other, weary grins on their faces. Then Spike was tackled by a very happy, and very naked, Buffy Summers.

Michael unchained Faith and held her, checking for injuries. With the exception of one nasty bruise on her left temple, she was fine. He nodded once to Xander before he began the trek back to the streets. Xander didn't hesitate to gather Jenny in his arms and follow Michael, leaving the two reunited lovers a moment of privacy.

"I missed you," Buffy whispered against his throat.

"I know," he grinned as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. "But let's get you home, luv. Don't fancy shagging you here. To many littl' rocks an' stuff."

*****

The old, withered body of the Necromancer, his true body, paced angrily in his workshop a good distance from where his living body was killed. Granted, he stole the body from it's true owner, but that didn't matter. He had been stopped. His plans were, once again, completely ruined.

"Fuck!" he screamed, kicking over his desk, sending parchments and books flying throughout the room. "How the hell do they keep on winning! I had everything, EVERYTHING, planned perfectly!"

"Maybe you need some help with this," the apparition of a young boy said from the other side of the room. "Two dark and twisted minds are usually better than one, unless they fight each other instead of their enemies."

The Necromancer's pacing stopped suddenly, looking at the young boy with interest. Then, with a small laugh, he resumed his pacing.

"The First Evil, reduced to appearing as the already-dead," he said, amusement clear in his voice. "That's rich." 

"I knew you'd recognize me," the boy said. "And now, to you recognize the merit of my suggestion?"

"It has _some _merit," the lich conceded. "Who do you have in mind?"

The boy grinned, and whispered one name. The lich looked shocked (as much as a skull covered in withered flesh can looked shocked) for a moment before he began to laugh. It was a dark sound indeed.


	19. Soul to Squeeze

__

A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

A/N+!: The last chapter was longer than I originally anticipated, but that's good. I hope I can continue the trend...

Title: Red Hot Chili Peppers, with 'Soul to Squeeze 

*****

"So you have no idea why he... brought her back?" Giles asked when Buffy finally came down after her shower, wearing clothing that had been brought from her house. The entire crew was gathered in Michael and Faith's apartment, since Buffy's home was still lacking windows and a front door.

"He didn't say anything about her," she replied, sitting down next to her once-vampire. Spike still wore a small smile, one that hadn't diminished since he had returned.

"She seems to be perfectly fine," Willow added from the kitchen. "I haven't found anything wrong with her."

"Yet she still won't wake up," Giles stated wearily, cleaning his glasses again. They were discussing Jenny Calendar's unexpected return to the living.

"She has been through a lot," Buffy said. "It's not often someone returns from the dead."

"Present company excluded," Michael said wryly. He was waiting patiently for Faith to finish in the bathroom, needing to hold her after what had almost happened. "Give her some time to rest, I'm sure she'll recover after some time." Giles merely nodded.

"So," Xander said from his seat by the kitchen, "I'm wondering why we're not with the big happiness. We won, right?"

"It isn't over," Michael and Spike said in unison, glancing at each other briefly. Michael continued, "We killed the body he was using. He's still, well, undead."

"Ain't that bloody easy to kill a lich," Spike added. "I'm still not sure what the bloody hell we can do against 'im."

"I have the answer to that one," Giles said suddenly, his pacing stopped. "There is a passage that refers to something known as the 'Faith of the Fallen', and states that with it, the Necromancer can be defeated."

"That's good news," Buffy said. "Where do we get it?"

"Well, Angel and I discussed this briefly," the ex-watcher explained. "Four of you must go to Ireland, to a place of the old power, and face the four guardians. Then, you will possess the Faith of the Fallen."

"Four of us," Buffy pondered briefly. "Which four?"

"That, too, was being discussed."

"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go," Michael said. "Which means Faith will go too, and Buffy stays in Sunnydale."

"Well luv," Spike said, his arm pulling her closer, "Looks like we get to spend some quality time together." She smiled and leaned in, giving him a quick kiss.

"I'll go," Willow volunteered. 

"So will I," Xander added.

"Then it's decided," Giles said. "I'll get flights booked for early next week."

"So," Spike whispered into Buffy's ear, "What does a bloke 'ave to do to get some time in bed 'round 'ere?"

*****

They walked home quickly, trying not to touch each other too much. It had only been a few days, weeks in Spike's case, yet it seemed like a lifetime since they last felt each other. Things were not the same now, and both felt it was for the better.

They made it just inside her bedroom door before his arms pulled her close, and their lips met. Tongues battled for supremacy with their familiar need, hands roamed flesh that was remembered so well.

"You're warm," Buffy breathed against his throat when the kiss was broken. Her chest heaved with her quick breaths, matching his perfectly.

"So are you," he said, his hand reaching for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head quickly. "So bloody warm...." His lips marked a trail from her lips. Every inch of skin he uncovered received gentle ministrations from lips no longer cold. She sighed, arcing her back and pulling him to the bed as fast as her weakening legs could support.

They fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs, clothing flying as soon as hands could remove them. For the first time, the heat of his body matched hers, and the change was not unwelcome. Every time he touched her, moved over or insider her, felt so familiar, yet so different. And it felt so _right._

"Buffy," he breathed, her name rolling off of his tongue as if it was a prayer. Perhaps it was.

*****

Later, they lay in each other's arms, content to rest, sated. She knew it was time for to talk, to find out the answers to small questions that whispered in the back of her mind.

"Spike?" 

"Yes, luv," he said, his voice a hair's breath from sleep.

"Are you Spike, or William?"

"Say again, luv?"

"I know this sounds weird," she said quickly, "But, when Angel got his soul, he was different from the demon. I just wanted to know, are you? Are you William, or Spike?"

"I dunno," he answered honestly. "Some things 'aven't changed, others 'ave. I'm startin' to think that me an' my demon, we were alike from the start. I'm still Spike, but I've always been William."

He felt her relax against him, and he knew that was what she needed to hear. And, for the first time in years, he was glad the truth was enough.

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna turn down a spot o' violence," he added with a small grin. "Just because I've got the warm an' fuzzies don't mean I'm not the Big Bad."

"Keep telling yourself that, baby," she said with a chuckle. When she saw his stunned expression, she couldn't help but laugh. He smiled at her, and held her even tighter.

"'Bout time I got a nick," he murmured, before kissing her again. For the second time that night, words ceased to matter.

*****

Four hours of rigorous spell casting would tire anyone, and the Necromancer was no exception. He willed away the weariness, spurred on by the fact that his goal for tonight was well within reach. He paced before his chained captive, summoned by dark rites and blood sacrifices.

"I'm disappointed," he said, amused by the fear and anger rolling off his captive, "I've heard so much about you, yet the reality pales in comparison."

"Fuck you," the captive spat.

"No thanks," he answered with a grin, his pacing ceased. "I liked you much better years ago, in Europe. I've got to say, this new and improved you.... sucks."

When his started chanting again, his captive struggled against the chains with renewed vigor. The struggles were to no avail, for the Necromancer knew well the limitations of even vampiric strength. He finished the spell long before the steel gave way. His captive doubled over in agony, screaming.

Long moments passed before the screams abated, the vampire's lungs heaving for the much unneeded air. Now yellow eyes regarded the Necromancer skeptically, not knowing what to think.

"How do you feel now?" the Necromancer asked finally, a smirk pulling his skeletal face into a death grin.

"Like I want to tear your fucking throat out," he growled, his demonic visage at the fore.

"Now now, Angelus," he chuckled, "We're supposed to work together here."

"Why?"

"I've brought you back with one purpose in mind," the spell caster began pacing again, "To face the Slayer you failed to kill years ago."

"So let me go and I'll deal with her."

"Not quite yet," he replied. "I'll release you, but you need to avoid her for a few days."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Angelus asked, his demon visage fading away, leaving his human face filled with wariness.

"I've yet to summon other allies to this battle," the Necromancer replied, sitting on a decaying throne. "You are not strong enough to face all of her allies at once. So, I'm calling in the cavalry."

The vampire considered for a brief moment, before his mind recalled the Slayer's friends, both old and new. When his face finally split by an evil grin, the Necromancer returned the grin and undid the chains binding the vampire.

"So, we are agreed."

*****

Michael stood by the street outside the apartment, his sheathed blade held by his side. His eyes scanned the darkened streets of Sunnydale, searching for some visible cause to the darkness he felt within his heart. Something big was happening, and he wasn't happy with it.

"Something on your mind?" came the voice of Giles from behind him. In truth, the Englishman had snuck up on him, so complete was his attention focused on the unknown evil. Another might have jumped in surprise, but he had long ago trained himself to quell some of his natural reactions.

"My spider sense is tingling," he answered, trying to hide his unease with a small joke. He didn't expect the older man's slight laughter, and his surprise was evident on his face this time.

"Buffy said the same thing some years ago," Giles explained. "I didn't catch the reference at the time, but I have done my 'research'."

Michael gave a small smile before turning his gaze again to the streets. Giles stood beside him for long moments, his gaze also on the deserted suburbia. When he spoke again, neither deviated from their futile watch.

"You know, I never got a chance to ask you something fairly important." Michael's small murmur spurred him on. "Everyone seems so content now, quite out of character for all of them, I might add. Spike and Buffy, for instance..."

"And this has something to do with me?"

"Don't play the ignorant role," Giles cut off suddenly. Michael suddenly got a small taste of who Rupert Giles had been many years ago. The Ripper, a cold, calculating son of a bitch who was very capable of violence. Giles had long ago put chains of restraint upon that anger, and the fact he could harness it for a controlled purpose made him that much more formidable. He was suddenly very glad that the man was his ally. "I want to know if you influence emotions in any way."

"It is a small thing really," the younger man sighed. "My father explained it to me years ago, and in truth, I haven't thought about it much over the years. By virtue of my presence, I do tend to ally fears and misgivings. In battle, fear is... reduced. I don't know what I do by my presence in everyday life. You realize, it's how I live. I know no different."

"I see," Giles said, removing his glasses and cleaning them, quite unnecessarily. "You didn't tell any of them about this?"

"Didn't see a need to," Michael answered firmly. "Whatever they do, it was in their hearts the entire time. Just now, fear, anger, and hate have less to do with their decisions."

"And for some, those emotions protect them from future hurt."

"For some," Michael conceded. "For others, it hampers their growth and happiness."

They stood silent for some moments after those words faded on the cool night air, each lost in their own thoughts. It grew into a comfortable silence as each digested what the other had said. Finally, when Giles turned to leave, Michael spoke again. This time his words were tinged with a small amount of fear. And given his previous revelations, the implications were dire indeed.

"It's the Knights of Gavalon. They've come to Sunnydale."

"What?"

"An order of Dark Knights dedicated to the destruction of everything good," Michael explained quickly. "All half-demons, all gifted with blades forged in the deepest pits of Hell. My opposite; my equals."

"Good God," his retreat into the apartment stopped as if he hit a brick wall.

"He's got nothing to do with them."

"But... you've faced them before?" He felt the question had to be asked. In fact it did, in hopes that the response would be a positive one.

"Yes, once I faced a lone knight," Michael answered, the grip on his blade tightening. "I almost died that day, but he did. I faced one, and was almost beaten."

"And now...?"

"I'm stronger now, but there is definitely more than one in Sunnydale."

*****

Willow and Xander had returned to his home some time ago, and retreated to the sanctity of their now-shared bedroom. They went with full intentions of a restful night's sleep, but thoughts kept turning in their minds, born of the last week's strange turns. Finally, Xander broke the silence with an amazing insight.

"I'm used to fighting evil," he started, "Avoiding the end of the world became a regular occurrence years ago. But this... we're not gonna get out of this the same, are we?"

"We'll try to," Willow answered, resting her hand over his heart. "We always do."

"What scares me now is that might not be enough."

A long time passed before either finally found sleep. It was not a restful sleep, as they had both hoped for. This sleep was plagued by fears neither could banish, fears intent on driving the last vestiges of innocence from their hearts.

******

__

A/N: For those of you paying attention, Gavalon is remarkably close to Avalon in spelling, and for good reason. I'll be explaining that in the next installment. And, the meaning behind Jenny's return will come to light. And Angelus... I didn't much like him the first time he was 'bad', but the way I'm looking at it is such: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but what about a powerful vampire who finds out his grand-childe is sleeping with the object of his obsession? Hehehe....

I'm sorry it's taking so long to get the installments up, but my 'puter's been givin' me bloody hell.


	20. Weapon and the Wound

__

Disclaimer: Only own Michael, the Necromancer, all others belong to JW.

A/N: The last chapter was longer than I originally anticipated, but that's good. I hope I can continue the trend...

Title: Days of the New get credit for this title, 'Weapon and the Wound'

*****

By mid-afternoon the following day, everyone was gathered at the Summer's residence for some serious research. The windows and door were finally replaced, but they all knew it was only a matter of time before they were destroyed... again.

Ancient tomes of lore were scattered haphazardly around the living room, quickly scanned and then pushed aside. On the rare occasion that anything of merit was found, it was shared and jotted down for future reference. Much to Giles' surprise, the entire group was intent on finding the needed knowledge in the shortest possible time. Even the normally reluctant Slayers had their noses, often quite literally, buried between aged sheets of parchment.

This would have normally been cause enough for him to jump for joy, and yet... the dangers and evils that were known to be active in Sunnydale at that time put quite the damper on any sort of joyous mood. Giles knew this, and sighed as he turned his full attentions to the tome before him.

Michael rose and walked towards the door, eliciting the worried gaze of Faith. He walked with purpose, every stride reminding the once-fallen slayer of her own days of darkness. It was a pace that said to hell with everything else, he was going to get what the fuck he wanted.

He stood outside, his soul drinking in the darkness, waiting for something he could not explain. His right hand easily held his father's sheathed blade. In all truth, he didn't know why he still thought of it as his father's blade, save that he didn't feel worthy of the blessed steel.

He had been standing outside for about four minutes when he heard the door open, and he knew without looking that Faith was the one joining him. He never needed to look when it was her.

"What's wrong?" Faith asked as she knelt behind him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"I've got to do something about this," he whispered as he leaned back into her. "I'm the only one who can."

"You can't keep resting everything on you," she answered firmly.

"I know," he sighed. "But in this case I can end it with one fight."

She was quiet for a time, digesting his words. Michael's fingers gently intertwined with her own as she sat behind him, her legs out to either side of him. Their peaceful moment was quickly shattered by the dark, familiar shape that stepped out from behind a tree.

"Angel!" Faith exclaimed, standing quickly and taking a step towards the vampire...

_*tick*_

The dark haired vampire's mouth twists, ever so slowly, into a malicious grin as his eyes slide into the burnished gold of the demon within.

_*tick*_

Faith stops her forward motion, realizing something is very wrong. Her weight shifts back as her hands come up defensively.

_*tick*_

Michael slides evenly to his feet, his gaze being drawn to the armored men creeping from the shadows around the house. Seemingly normal men wearing chain-and-plate armor and wielding blackened, demonic blades moved forward with a deadly purpose, their faces blank.

_*Ticktickticktick*_

"Fuck!" Michael yelled as he pulled Faith to the door with him, his left shoulder dipping as he knocked it aside. Everyone's eyes focused on them, and a half second passed before any of them moved.

Michael drew his blade from the scabbard hurriedly, not caring about finesse now. Faith grabbed her own katana as well, barely half a heartbeat behind her lover as he moved to face the first of the Knights of Gavalon who were flooding into the foyer. Blessed steel clashed against cursed ebony as Michael threw himself at the door, trying to stem the tide of bodies and give his friends a chance to react. 

Faith moved to the door with Michael, her own blade dancing as she slid in close to him. Their bodies almost touching, they seemed to dance in the sea of steel as they moved from attack to defense and back again. They moved as if they had fought like this for years, each anticipating the other's move and complimenting it perfectly.

Half a dozen of their foes fell in the first few moments, never knowing the skill and dedication that they faced. With torn throats, slashed tendons, and evicerated organs, they fell into the final, unending death. And still more of their brothers charged into the room, unheeding of the deaths at their feet, or the two other fighters rising to their feet.

Spike rose smoothly, as if for a midsummer's night dance, his muscles flexing sinuously as he rose from his place beside Buffy. His blade sung forth with a speed bordering on impossible as he met the knights that broke through the rear door. The growl issuing from his throat gave the fearless a moment's pause before the enchanted steel began to cut through steel and flesh with astounding speed.

Buffy, unarmed, leapt into the fray beside Spike, her arms and feet striking with skill and power. She danced from one foe to the next, heedless of the naked steel that sought her flesh. She merely ducked, sidestepped, or moved inside each attack. Her strength shattered bone, and her speed shocked the dark knights as more and more of their brethren fell to the ground.

For long moments the battle raged, every combatant heedless of anything but the desperate struggle to stay alive. Just as suddenly as the assault began, it ended as the dark knights simply stopped coming, those who still lived staggering out the door, carrying their wounded with them. Breathing heavily, Faith looked around, her blade barely held in numb fingers.

"Is everyone alright?" she asked, her gaze sliding across the room.

Spike and Buffy nodded wearily as the walked away from the back door. Both bore slight wounds, yet seemed to be in little pain. Giles, Xander, Willow and Dawn looked around in awe at the piles of dead bodies blocking both the front and back door. Thankfully, none of the dark knights had made it past those doors.

When Faith turned to Michael, she found him slumped against the wall, his left hand clutched against his chest, right where his heart was. Blood seeped from between his fingers, and his face was twisted in pain. Faith's blade fell from her fingers as she rushed to his side, easing him to the floor even as tears began to fall from her eyes. Michael's lips turned in a brief smile as he looked at Faith. She tried to speak, but no words found their way past the lump in her throat. 

For all the death and pain she had caused, his death would forever be etched into her memory. His brief smile, the love shining through the pain in his eyes, the gentle touch of his fingers against her cheek... 

And he was gone.

*****

__

A/N: Just a few more chapters, folks. Hang in there, things are gonna get interesting.


	21. Whisper

__

Disclaimer: See first Chapter!

A/N: I've got only a chapter or two left after this one, I hope. I've gotta at least finish one fic. It's not going to be as long as I originally intended, but hey, I still like the way it's turning out!

Title: Evanescence with 'Whisper'

*****

__

Catch me as I fall,

Say you're here and it's all over now

Speaking to the atmosphere

No one's here and I fall into myself

This truth drives me into madness

I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away...

*****

"Faith..." the gently hand on her shoulder, the softy calling of her name, but none of it mattered. He was gone. Tears ran freely down her face as she held his cooling body, trying in vain to hold onto him, to keep him with her.

"Give her a few moments," Giles said softly, turning from her and walking back to his books. "We need to stop him, now. The Necromancer..."

At the sound of that name, Faith stumbled blindly to her feet, grabbing a blade from the ground. Buffy tried to stop her, only to be pushed to the side as Faith staggered out the door and into the depths of the Sunnydale night.

*****

Faith ran tirelessly through the streets, heeding a voice within her soul that was leading her to her foe. There was no fear in her heart, only rage and pain. Everything she had was gone. He was gone.

A small part of her screamed to stop, to gather friends and face this evil with them. She knew this was suicide, but a much larger part of herself didn't care. She had nothing to live for now.

*****

__

Don't turn away

Don't give into the pain

Don't try to hide

Though their screaming your name,

Don't close your eyes

God knows what lies behind them.

Don't turn the light out,

Never sleep never die...

*****

She barely noticed the ruined warehouse she entered. Tears threatened her vision, but she wiped them away with an uncaring hand, still red with his blood. Her hair hung limply, drenched in sweat that was dripping down her back. She paid it no notice as she continued to sprint into the darkness, running headlong into what she hoped would be release and sweet oblivion.

*****

__

I'm frightened by what I see,

But somehow I know there's much more to come

Immobilized by my fear,

And soon to be blinded by tears,

I can stop the pain if I will it all away...

*****

Twice his minions tried to stop her. Heedless of her own safety, she threw herself at them, the blade in her hand singing through the air. It was like trying to stop the wind. Broken bodies littered the battlegrounds where they failed, testament to her skill and rage.

And still she ran on, her heart pounding strongly as she battered down the final door that stood between her and her hated foe.

He stood, uncaring, upon a throne of twisted bone and rotting flesh. What remained of his body was covered in rotting robes, doing little to hid his hideous form. The blazing red pits of his eyes regarded her, whatever thoughts that may lie within them completely hidden from her. Faith's hand tightened on the hilt of her sword as he rose slowly.

"I take it he is dead?" his voice rasped as he walked calmly off the raised dais. Without waiting for her answer, he continued, "You know you're throwing your life away, slayer, by coming here alone."

Her answer was swift. Holding the blade low and parallel to the ground, she charged him. The bones of his hands creaked slightly as he raised them, directing deadly magic to meet her charge.

*****

__

Fallen angels at my feet,

Whispered voices in my ear

Death before my eyes

Lying next to me, I fear.

She beckons me, shall I give in?

upon my eyes I shall begin

Forsaking all I've fallen for I rise to meet the end.

****

__

A/N: Sorry bout the short chapter, but I needed it to set up for the next one.


	22. The Unforgiven

__

Disclaimer: See first Chapter!

Title: Metallica with 'The Unforgiven'

*****

"We don't know enough to go charging in after her!" Giles yelled, his glasses held in a forgotten hand. 

"We're not bloody chargin' in," Spike spat. "I'm takin' care of Angelus, tha's all." His duster swung in time with his slight pacing by the front door, now cleared of the bodies that previously littered the way.

"He's right," Buffy spoke up, her own voice soft. "Faith's alone in this, but there are other things we have to worry about."

"Fine," the Watcher spat, putting his glasses on and sitting heavily. "Go, then. And... be careful." Spike nodded once, curtly, before giving Buffy a small kiss. With a slight flap of his duster, he was off in a dead run.

With the younger-looking Brit's exit, the house fell into a somber silence. Xander stood just inside the front door, dressed once again in full combat gear, his watch vigilant. Willow silently comforted Dawn on the couch, even though the witch's eyes conveyed her own need for comfort clearly. Giles stood next to a pile of his books, a thoughtful look on his face as he mentally turned the events of the night over in his mind. And Buffy...

"We can't just sit here," she said suddenly, earning a surprised look from everyone save Xander, who continued to gaze out into the night. "There has to be something we can do to help Faith."

"There's nothing, Buffy," Giles said wearily. "We don't have the artifact we n-need to defeat..."

A slight cough from the foot of the stairs effectively silenced the Watcher mid-sentence. The figure leaning heavily on the banister had been quiet effectively forgotten by everyone in light of more pressing matters. But now this specter from the past, now flesh and blood, made herself known.

"That's not quite true, Rupert," Jenny whispered, her voice dry.

*****

Spike walked to the old warehouse he had once shared with Angelus and Dru, not quite sure of his next move. He had searched the master vampire's old haunts, but to no avail. This was the last of them, and he was loath to return here. Painful memories of those he had killed and fed upon were thick upon the place.

"Bloody git," he murmured to himself, his hand unconsciously tightening on the hilt of his blade. "Just bloody get it over with." Thus fortified, Spike strode right through the front door. His eyes widened slightly when he realized he wasn't alone.

Two dozen men in dark armor were lounging in the open bay. Every one of them looked at him as he entered, a few rising to their feet slowly. And in the center of the room, pacing on the table that was once used for Dru's 'feasts', was Angelus.

"Dear William!" the vampire exclaimed, raising his hands in an almost merry manner. "So glad you could join us!"

"Bloody wanker," Spike murmured, knowing that with his vampiric hearing, Angelus would hear him easily. 

"Now, now," the vampire taunted, "Don't ruin the party with your bad mood! Kill him, slowly." This last was an order to the dark knights, who had all risen during the short exchange. 

"Don't," Spike said calmly, drawing his blade slowly, pointing it at Angelus. "Just you and me, y' poofer. We've unsettled business, you an' I."

That twisted, taunting grin remained on Angelus's face for long moments, until he realized something that Spike had been counting on. In that moment he realized a small miscalculation on his part.

The only movement the knights had made was a slight turn, and a few small paces backwards in some cases, leaving the greater part of the room clear. Despite their demonic heritage, these knights had been taught honor and glory. It made them a much more effective and cohesive fighting force, but also allowed for single combat between two enemies.

"A blade," Angelus said , holding his right hand out. One of the knights took two steps forward, proffering his sheathed blade, hilt first, to the vampire. Angelus drew it cleanly, the steel singing free. "I'm impressed, Spike. Didn't think you were smart enough to figure this little honorable challenge thing out."

"Shut y'r gob," Spike fairly snarled, bringing his sword up in simple salute. "Time for one of us t' die."

Angelus, the master vampire, let his demon to the fore as he leapt at Spike, the former vampire. For centuries both men had competed against each other in every facade of their shared un-life. Now, after a century, their dark hatred of each other was unleashed, finally freed from the constraints forged by the women they had loved or lusted over.

Steel against steel, flesh against flesh, and blood against blood.

*****

"Jenny..." Giles was the first to fight through his shock and speak, taking one step towards her. She swayed uneasily on her feet but waved him off.

"Don't," she whispered, "I don't know how long..."

"How long what?" Willow asked.

"When he's dead, I don't know if I'll die again," the gypsy answered. "They weren't sure of a lot of things..." 

When she didn't elaborate immediately, both Giles and Willow called her name. Shaking her head slightly, the gypsy lowered herself to sit upon the steps. After running a slightly shaking hand through her hair, she met Giles's gaze.

"It's a long story, Rupert," she said, almost wearily. "And we don't have time for the full details. Suffice to say, Faith may not be throwing her life away... it all depends on a few details that couldn't be determined by the powers that be."

*****

The necromantic magic sought her life, her mind, and her soul. Searing pain and visions of madness threatened to end her in those first few moments, but somehow she survived it. Somehow her feet continued to propel her forward, her voice rising in a harsh, primal battle cry.

The lich felt no fear as she charged through his magic, confident in the fact that she couldn't hurt him. His powers were to strong, too old to be ended by a mere mortal holding plain steel. A horrid laugh began to emanate from deep within his chest as he watched her approach.

Then his eyes caught something that he _wasn't _expecting. For the first time in hundreds of years, he felt an emotion that he could no longer rightly name. He knew he had miscalculated, and that it would cost him dearly. The golden radiance that shown brightly from the katana heralded something he never thought he would see.

His own death.

*****

Both me were more evenly matched than they realized. The demonic steel of the vampire's blade screeched against the enchanted, elf-crafted long sword in the now-mortal man's hands. Theirs was a fight with no quarter, where every once of skill and prowess was drawn forth in desperation and intense desire.

And through it all, the dark knights stood silently, watching the battle with an almost casual air.

*****

"What do you mean?"

"Which sword did she take, Rupert?"

There was a moment of pure silence before the watcher spoke. His voice was filled with confusion, followed closely by sudden enlightenment. Sitting down heavily, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, ignoring the questioning looks of the witch.

*****

"And so it ends," he said calmly, his voice sounding more alive than it ever had. He watched with an impartial eye as the blessed steel sang through the air. Gone was the centuries of power struggles, dark rituals, and painful sacrifices. With one clean cut, his dark intellect was rendered useless and his evil magics were undone.

Faith collapsed to her knees as the body of the Necromancer fell, cut cleanly at the waist. The anger and rage that had driven her for the last hour was finally spent as the object of her hate died his final death. It was then that the sorrow she had held at bay finally found her.

It was there, hours later, they would find her, kneeling in the heart of her fallen foe's dark sanctuary, weeping softly.

***** 

Both men were breathing heavily as the stood just out of each other's reach. Blood flowed freely from their many wounds, but neither man felt pain. As skilled as each man was, he found the other to be his match. Strength, speed, skill, and heart were all equally balanced by the other man.

"This ends here," Spike panted, raising his blade for one final assault. The other man nodded briefly as he raised his own blade.

They both leapt, bringing the swords around in a deadly arc. Steel found flesh, cutting deeply and sending forth a spray of blood. One blade fell from lifeless hands, clattering loudly against the concrete.

The victor slowly raised his gaze to the dark knights, who had begun to walk from the warehouse. They said not a word to the victor, save for the one knight who collected his blade. Within moments, they were all gone, leaving the victor to stand alone with the memory of his fallen adversary.

*****

__

A/N : yea, a dramatic pause. One last chapter, then an epilogue. Gotta clean up a few loose ends.


	23. August and Everything After

__

Disclaimer: See first Chapter!

Title: The Counting Crow's CD, 'August and Everything After'

*****

"I guess that answers that," Jenny said from the couch, many moments later. She was tired, judging by the strain of her voice and the weariness her gaze held. "He's dead."

Giles and Buffy merely nodded. Willow had taken Dawn up to her bedroom, while Xander was making a quick patrol of the block. Another silent moment passed between the three of them before Giles spoke, his own voice soft.

"Now what?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jenny answered truthfully. "I was only told that Faith had a chance, not what would come of it. And I just..." Her voice failed her here as her eyes unfocused slightly. "You don't know how hard this is for me."

"What, Jenny?"

"Leaving... where I was."

The silence in the air was thick, but Buffy's small chuckle brought a harsh glare from the former teacher. When the Slayer walked over and took her hand, the surprise on Jenny's face was clear as day.

"It's not that bad," the blonde said softly. "Besides, there are people here to help. I've been there... if you ever need to talk..."

The gypsy's small nod was her only answer, but the warmth in Rupert's gaze gave her a small measure of hope. Maybe living wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

*****

He found her quite easily, despite the thick stench of death that hung in the air. Following a Slayer's scent was nothing new to him. There, by a pile of rotting limbs and tattered rags, she knelt. She seemed so small, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around herself, weeping softly.

She made no acknowledgement of his presence, not even when he gently sheathed the katana and lifted her easily. With a small sigh, he carried her from this place of death and pain, back into the world above.

*****

"Where the hell is he?" Buffy was fuming. Spike had been gone for almost two hours now, and hadn't even called to tell her he was alright. Not that she doubted he beat Angelus, but still... a girl was allowed to worry about her man.

_My man? _she thought with some surprise. _Even after...?_

Those thoughts were crushed quickly and viciously. After all they had been through, she had no right to doubt him. He had changed so much since that day, and in truth, she had forgiven him for it a long time ago. Still, those nagging thoughts ran around her mind for the next half hour, until Xander's voice brought her running.

As she stepped out the broken front door, her gaze was immediately carried to Xander, who knelt by two unmoving forms on the front lawn. One was Faith, who seemed unhurt from this angle. The other wore a long black duster, and had two sheathed blades on the ground beside him.

"Spike..." she whispered, even as she ran to his side. The questioning voices of her own mind were banished completely in that half second, when she feared he was dead. Every regret she had flashed through her mind as she knelt beside the bleached Englishman. With a trembling hand, she brushed her fingers at the base of his throat, looking for a pulse.

"Jus' a few more min'ts, luv," he murmured wearily, shifting slightly on the grass. All pretense of patience flew out the window as she engulfed him in a hug, waking the wounded man. In truth, he didn't give a damn that she woke him, despite his protests.

Xander carried Faith inside without a word, bringing her straight to the basement. Tucking her into the spare cot, he sighed softly before climbing back upstairs, turning out the light as he went.

*****

"Jenny," Rupert said quietly as they sat in the living room, alone for the first time. "I need to know how she was able to do it."

Jenny nodded slightly as she shifted on the couch, making herself a little more comfortable. She didn't speak for a few moments, seemingly gathering her thoughts. Giles gave her the time she needed, confident that the answers would be forthcoming.

"First, the Faith of the Fallen," the gypsy began. "The temple was destroyed almost two hundred years ago, but the talisman wasn't needed to draw forth the power. Faith was able to do that on her own. She was one of the Fallen, once. And she had the conviction necessary to focus those powers and use them in her fight against Him." 

"The Faith of the Fallen is powered by the souls of those who had turned away from their beliefs, only to regret it within their hearts when they died. Faith, since she hadn't died yet, had a bond with these spirits. And they granted their power to her."

"And Michael's sword?" Giles asked.

"That's the easy one, Rupert," Jenny teased softly. "Think about it."

"Only one of his bloodline can wield it," Giles replied evenly. "There's no way that she could..." He stopped suddenly, his mouth working as he took his glasses of and cleaned them fiercely.

"Knew you could do it," Jenny laughed softly. "Not as old and foggy as everyone thinks."

*****

Faith didn't leave the basement much over the next two days, moving only to get food and use the bathroom. Otherwise, she simply sat in the semi-darkness, often crying herself to sleep. The others gave her the room she needed, until the third day, when Spike came down to see her.

"'Lo slayer," he said softly, standing just out of Faith's reach. "Seems y' could use a friend right now."

She shook her head, curling herself into a ball under the blankets. Hopefully, the annoying Brit would just leave...

"Can't hide from this forever," he murmured as he sat at the foot of the cot. "I'm just gonna give y' somethin' t' think about, then Ah'll let y' alone."

"Th' fightin's always th' easy part, with people like us. Tha' we can do, and do well. But th' aftermath of th' fightin', tha's were we need our friends an' family, slayer. Don't hide down 'ere forever. We'll all be waitin' t' help y' when y'r ready."

With that, Spike rose slowly and walked upstairs, leaving Faith alone in the blessed silence.

*****

About an hour later, the door to the basement opened quickly. Spike and Buffy looked over their shoulders in surprise as Faith ran from the basement, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. The slamming of the door echoed in the mostly empty house.

"Tha's not what I expected," Spike mused, earning a small punch from Buffy.

*****

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Faith leaned heavily against the wall, trying to calm her queasy stomach. After a few moments, she felt a little better, rising to her feet slowly. She rinsed her mouth out before splashing some water on her face.

The reflection she saw in the mirror scared her, just a little. Dark circles hung under her eyes, and her skin seemed a little pale. She felt sick, both body and soul.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.

*****

When Faith staggered down the stairs, she wasn't surprised to see Spike and Buffy waiting patiently for her. Someone had always been waiting during her brief forays from the basement. Sighing softly to herself, she swallowed the small twinge of pain and spoke to them.

"Guys, I really don't feel like talking about it right now," she began, her words flowing past her lips faster as she continued. "I'm feeling sick, and just wanted to know if you had something that would help."

"It's perfectly normal y'r feeling sick," Spike replied a bit smugly, "After all... What?!"

He glared at Buffy, who was giving him her best Shut Up Or Die stare. After a small sigh, he settled back into his seat, muttering under her breath.

"Don't mind the loudmouth," Buffy said, trying for damage control. "You know how he gets, and..."

"What did he mean, 'perfectly normal?'" Faith asked, her voice growing slightly cold. When Buffy hesitated, she yelled, "Tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"Relax Faith," Buffy replied meekly. 

"Think about it," Spike said from his seat, obviously ignoring Buffy's wishes. "You killed that bloody wanker with who's sword?"

"My sword," Faith answered immediately.

"No, y' didn't," Spike insisted. "Th' sword y' used is still by the cot downstairs."

Turning on her heel, Faith stormed downstairs, angry and confused by the peroxide-blonde's words. She never intended to look at the sheathed katana by the cot, but her gaze was drawn like a moth to the flame. Her knees went weak as the realization hit her, and was followed a moment later by the meaning behind Spike's words.

The smooth white leather of the sword pommel gave her all the answer she needed, strengthened by the white scabbard inlaid with silver. Her own katana was wrapped in blue, and lacked any decoration on the scabbard. She had used _his _katana.

"Only my bloodline..." she whispered as her hands slowly caressed her belly. A single tear ran a glistening trail down her cheek as a small smile, tinted with the barest sorrow, lit her face. It was his last gift to her, something she had never expected or let herself dream of, until he walked into her life.

She cried again, but the tears of sorrow were outnumbered by the tears of happiness. She was going to be a mother.

*****

"Are you sure about this?" Xander asked quietly as he loaded the last of her luggage into the back of the Mustang. She smiled slightly and nodded, leaning against the driver's side door. She wore clothing that wasn't really what she normally wore. One of Michael's sweatshirts almost engulfed her, and the slightly baggy jeans was something new on her. With a wave to the other's gathered on the porch, she opened the door and slid inside.

"Don't stay away too long, Faith," Xander said as he held the door open for a moment. "You're family 'round these parts." The last was drawled in a fairly good cowboy accent, and another smile lit her face.

"It's just for a little while," she answered.

"We'll all miss you," was all he said as he closed the door and stepped back onto the side walk, waving.

Faith started the car and drove off, much more carefully than she normally did. She was used to taking chances and risking her own life, but things had changed. It wasn't just her life she had to worry about.

She drove east, away from the setting sun and back to the life she had run from years ago. There was unfinished business with her family that she was finally ready to deal with, but after that, she wasn't sure. Maybe a trip to Ireland, to see his birthplace, before she got ready to return. After all, she finally knew were home was.

*****

__

A/N: That concludes 'A Question of Faith', save for the Epilogue, parts one and two. I enjoyed writing the story, and WILL be continuing along the path I've crafted. I'm not sure when, but it'll be soon. I promise :)

Thanks for all the reviews, support, and helpful suggestions. Please, let me know what you think, 'cause I'm not sure if how I'm gonna start the next story. ::raises his hand, waves slightly, and walks off to work::


	24. Farther Down Epilogue pt 1

__

Disclaimer: See first chapter!

A/N: This is the first of the Epilogues, dunno how many I'll have before I start a new story :)

Title: Matthew Sweet's 'Farther Down'

* * *

Farther down, I desperate for you,

Where you never have to know,

Farther down, I'm still without a clue,

But something, something takes my pain away...

* * *

Late-October

Boarding the flight from Boston to Dublin was a bit of a hassle. First was the long term storage for the car, which wasn't _too _bad. Then was the security. Thank god she didn't try and take any of her 'tools'.

But the fat guy sitting next to her, that just pissed her off. He was ugly, smelled bad, and hit on her three seconds after she sat down. And her glare didn't make him back off either.

Sighing to herself, she put her headphones on and popped one of the tapes she had made during her trip across the country. Maybe listening to her own voice would help her keep her sanity, even if only a little.

Glaring once more at the fatso, Faith tried to make herself comfortable for the long flight.

_

* * *

_

_"The heights of Colorado in September can be absolutely breath-taking, and I'm not talking about the encroaching winter. The western side of the city, right at sunset, is quite a view. I never really took the time to see what the country had to offer by way of sights, but now I'm glad I'm taking the time. After all, you only live once."_

"I don't cry for you as much, now. The pain grows less with each passing day, although the memories of our time together remains sharp and clear. It's funny sometimes, how we can heal but still hold on to those bittersweet memories."

"I guess I really should get back on the road, though. I've got quite a distance left on this self-imposed journey. Hell, I've got over a week of driving, if I push myself. I'm shooting for three."

"I really wish you were here with me, but in a way, you are. It's like you're just out of my sight, sitting with that small grin of yours, just watching me. Sometimes, when I'm tired or I've just woken up, I think that I can turn my head fast enough and see you. I never do, and I always feel like crying again. If anyone asked, I'd blame it on the roller coaster I'm on called pregnancy, but we both know the truth. I miss you."

"In a few minutes, I'll drive again. Find a hotel or something, get some sleep. But right now, I'll wait for you, see if you show up."

* * *

"God, I hate these states. Flat and boring. I mean, give me something to look at! I can't wait until I get to an interesting state. "

"At least I haven't been pulled over at all. Been keeping it close to the speed limit, thank you very much. The last thing I need is some inbred cop giving me a hard time...

"Thank you, by the way, for what you did. Leaving everything you had to me in the event of your death. I didn't realize it then, but now I know why you always took care of those little details. Always checking on the little things does make life a little smoother."

"I miss you, still. And I think our little one does too."

* * *

"For the love of... people in Virginia cannot fucking drive. It's got to be all these military people, from all over the country, screwing this up. Then again, if the state had a highway system that made sense..."

"It's nice to see the coast, the east one anyways. I never really knew how much I missed it. I guess dealing with all these insane drivers is worth it."

"I'm getting kinda wigged about seeing my mom and pop. I'm still not sure if the guy's really my dad, but he's the closest I had when I was little. At least until I met Giles, he was a dad. Now I know how they're supposed to be."

"It's getting late, so I'd better get ready to pull over. Talk to you tomorrow."

* * *

"I forgot how bad traffic can be, going from DC to Boston. The Jersey Turnpike and the drive through New York City, especially since I managed to hit it during fucking rush hour."

"I'm just a few minutes away from the Mass border now. I'll get a room soon, and go looking for my mom tomorrow, I guess. Now that I'm here, I'm not sure how I'm gonna find them. Stop by the old neighborhood, see if they're still at that shitty apartment. I'm just a bit worried about bringing the car there. It's not the safest place for a good car."

"Yay! The state line. Now for a fucking hotel..."

* * *

"That was easier, and harder than I thought. My mother is still at the same place, with that same loser. They were surprised, and angry, when they answered the door to find me. They yelled, screamed, and threatened me. Except for her husband, my 'dad'. Never again will I think of him as that. And I doubt he'll ever try and grab me, or hit my mother, again. Not that I really give a damn about her anymore."

"So I guess that's one less demon in my past. Don't need to go see a shrink to shift through the mess that was my past. I have family, now. I called last night, just to see how they're doing." 

"Giles, he's the closest thing I've ever had to a father, and I'm realizing he's a damn good one. I hope he and Jenny can work through their issues, and figure out what the hell they want. They're good for each other, now that Jenny's recovering and adjusting to the land of the living again."

"Xander's still working construction, and still collecting guns. He's got an offer to the Sunnydale PD now, and I think he's gonna take it. It's pretty good pay, and he say's the Lieutenant that's trying to hire him actually does _know what's going on in good ole Sunny-hell. Maybe he'll be able to make a difference."_

"Willow's still living with Xander, but in a strictly friends type thing. They like each other, but they say it ends at that. I kinda feel sorry for them, but they're fine. Willow's got this younger girlfriend, some girl named Kennedy. I've gotta meet this chic, Willow says she's got an attitude to match mine. And Giles says she's got the potential to be a Slayer, but since Buffy and I are still alive an' kicking, she'll never have to find out."

"Dawn's Dawn, I guess. I never really understood her, but she says she's doing fine. And has a boyfriend. He'd better not try anything, with Buffy and Spike watching out for her."

"Buffy and Spike. Still together, and still at it. They fight every day, Dawn told me, but never go to bed angry at each other. It's sweet, in a Slayer and ex-Vampire way. I hope one doesn't have a heart attack or stroke, considering the pains in the ass I know they both are."

"Well, I've gotta go if I want to catch my flight. I'll talk to you later."

* * *

The light bump of the wheels finding the runway woke Faith from her semi-sleep. The fat guy had been moved by one of the airline attendants after she slugged him for grabbing her leg. After that, the flight had been quiet, but long.

Now she was in Dublin, Ireland. So far, the airport looked like any other. But then again, she really didn't pay attention to most of the details. There were two men in suits standing by the departure gate with her name on a large placard. Both were older men, and watched her closely as she walked towards them.

_Fuck it, _she thought, _they already know who I am. Might as well get this over with._

"I'm Faith," I said, standing just out of the taller man's arm reach. I was confident, not stupid.

"Yes, we know," the shorter man said. "Can we talk over some food? There are some things we wish to discuss with you. To determine the... future interactions... that you may have with our associates"

"Nothing funny," I answered after a moment. My left and gently rubbed the slight swell of my belly. "I'm eating for two here."

Both men looked a bit shocked, but nodded slightly. They even let her pick whatever restaurant she wanted. It just happened to be a small pub just outside the airport grounds. Apparently they were used to American tourists, because they at least had an explanation for they food she didn't recognize.

The three of them ate in silence for a few moments. Well, Faith ate anyways. She almost finished her plate before the shorter of the two men decided to speak.

"Faith," he began slowly, "I understand your caution when dealing with the Council, and I agree with you to a point."

"So this isn't another ploy to get me 'under control'?"

"No," the same man replied. "There has been some... reorganization... throughout the Council, and when we found you were going to be coming to Ireland, we decided to tell you face to face. We've spoken with Mr. Giles, and decided that honesty was most likely our best route in this matter."

"You know I'll be calling him to check that," she said around another mouthful of food. 

"Of course," the second man said. "We'd expect no less, actually."

"But on to the business at hand," the first man said, nodding slightly at his companion. "The previous head of the Council has been removed, and a new leadership is now in place."

"Really?" she asked, skepticism clear in her voice.

"Really. Mr. Giles and four other field-experienced men and women no head the Council in all matters. The thing is, only one of them resides here, so the leadership is more conscious about world events. Those of us who appointed these people to the Council Seats feel that this is a much better way to do business. I was hoping you would agree with that, at least."

Faith nodded slightly, carefully memorizing the features of both men. When she finished her meal, she left some money to cover her portion of the tab and rose.

"It was good talking to you, but I need some sleep."

"Of course," the first man said. He slid a business card across the table with a small smile. "Give us a call tomorrow, after you've spoken to Mr. Giles. We'll provide a driver for the duration of your stay, if you require it."

She shook both of their hands before walking out of the pub and down the street to the hotel where she had booked a room. Within moments of stepping inside, she was asleep on the bed.

* * *

Giles had been brief, for a change, when Faith called him later that day. He confirmed who both men where, Mr. Christopher Harold and Mr. Jonathon King. He seemed excited about the new turn of events, and Faith felt happy for him. At least his actions while Buffy's Watcher were bearing fruit.

Next Faith called the number on the business card, getting a secretary after the second ring. She merely asked what hotel she was at, and when she wanted a driver. After giving the information, Faith decided to take a shower before going out.

The warm water eased some of the sore muscles that she still had from the trans-continental flight. Her hands softly traced the swell of her stomach, a small smile gracing her lips as she did so.

After drying off, she wore baggy jeans again, as well as another one of his sweatshirts. With one last look around, she grabbed her backpack and headed downstairs to meet the driver.

* * *

It was a two hour drive to the address she had, going well past the city limits and into the country. It was beautiful, the rolling green hills and small stone cottages that dotted the landscape. A content sigh escaped her lips, bringing a quick glance from the driver. He remained quiet, however, and just drove.

The small house she found herself in front of was well kept. She walked to the door slowly, slightly fearful for the first time on this trip as she knocked lightly on the front door.

A moment later, a thin woman with auburn hair answered the door. At first glance, she looked no older than Faith herself, but the small streaks of gray in her hair and the slight hint of wrinkles around the eyes quickly dismissed that. She carried herself well, and the dark hazel eyes seemed so familiar.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"Maybe," Faith said quickly. "I was hoping... do you have a son named Michael? Tall, dark hair, same eyes as you..."

A small chuckle escaped the woman's lips. "Yes, Michael is my son. Why don't you come inside." She lead Faith into the living room, and excused herself for a moment as she walked to the kitchen to fetch the tea she had on. 

Faith looked around the room, taking in the tasteful and homey feel. Pictures of the family were above the mantle, and Faith found herself rising from the chair to look at them. And there she found her answer.

In one, where he looked barely sixteen, he was poised next to his mother in front of the house. Even this young, his eyes conveyed a seriousness and purpose. In another, taken years before, he was with his father, a tall, handsome man with black hair and green eyes. In another...

"I take it that's the Michael you were talking about?" the woman asked, breaking her from her thoughts. At Faith's slight nod, the woman lead her back to the chair and handed her a cup of tea. Faith tasted it, even though she didn't feel like tea.

"What's wrong?" the woman asked. "I'm Lisa, by the way. You are?"

"Faith," she answered slowly. "And I'm afraid I have some bad news for you..." Here Faith paused, trying to gather her thoughts. When she heard a footstep behind her, she stiffened.

"Mother? We have company?" That voice was so familiar, so achingly familiar. She didn't want to turn to face the speaker, fearing it was just another phantom in her mind. Against her will, she looked at him.

He was just as he remembered, save for the slightly older clothing that didn't fit very well. His hair was a bit longer, and his face seemed a bit harder, but she could have sworn it was him. He never told her that he had a brother.

"He doesn't," Lisa answered her spoken query. "There are things you don't understand at work her, Faith."

"I saw him die," she said softly, rising on unsteady legs and walking to him. He looked at her in confusion, then glanced at his mother.

"He almost did. But he was taken to his father's homeland, and healed. His memories have been slow in returning, but they will eventually. It'll take time, perhaps, but he'll remember."

Ignoring her words, Faith ran to him, wrapping her arms around him and crying into his chest. Slowly, and unsurely, he wrapped his arms around her.

_He's got to remember me, _Faith thought as she cried. _Please, God... let him remember._

"Faith..." he said softly, his voice unsure and filled with questions. Then, as if a floodgate had been released, he began to rattle off more names. "Sunnydale, Giles, Xander, Buffy, Spike, Dawn, Willow... Faith..."

When he lifted her and kissed her, she felt like she was home again. Nothing else mattered. He _was _alive. The tenderness of his lips, the strength in his arms... he was alive.

* * *

I can never fully explain what happened to me. I thought I had died, but someone my grandfather knew saved me, healed me. But my memories... they were covered in gray haze. I remembered nothing of who or what I was. 

My mother was the first person I saw when I awoke, and the bond an child shares with his mother helped me through those first days, as the haze in my mind slowly dissipated. Memories of my youth came back slowly, as if my mind was being careful of remembering too much...

When she walked into the living room that day, my heart began to beat faster, my breath come slightly faster. Even if my mind couldn't remember her, my heart did. I had avoided seeing anybody other than my mother since my 'return', but I felt drawn to this woman.

When she held herself against me, her tears wetting the front of my shirt, it was like the hazy was being burnt away by the sun. I remembered months of my life in an instant, and with those memories came the feelings I had for this woman and her friends back in Sunnydale.

It was then I knew what I had been missing, what I had hungered for since I returned. Without a thought I kissed her, and I knew I had reclaimed a bit of myself that had been lost.

* * *

Three weeks later, on a flight back to Boston, the same fat man sat a few rows in front of Faith. When she walked past him to the bathroom, he slid a hand out and gently touched her ass as she walked by. When she only glanced over her shoulder at him, he smiled slightly. _I knew she wants me..._

All of a sudden, all amorous thoughts were driven from his head by the tight grip around his throat. Choking quietly, the man pissed his pants in fear. The cold voice that whispered into his ear caused him to pass out, but not before hearing every word.

"Touch my fiancé again, and I'll rip your fucking head off."

When Faith made her way back to the seat, she could help but chuckle as she saw the fat man. Punching Michael lightly on the arm, she sat down and snuggled against him.

"Possessive much?"

* * *

__

A/N: You all knew I couldn't let him be gone forever, right? I was thinking about a more dramatic way for him to return, but this seemed to work out better in my mind. 

The next Epilogue (and last) is gonna focus on Spike/Buffy, Giles/Jenny, and Willow/Kennedy. Will someone let me know what the girl looks like, at least? I've never seen the last season, and would like to be partially accurate....

Thank you to my readers, especially those who left reviews. They've helped quite a bit. And I figured out what the next TWO stories I'll be writing. One centered on Xander (one of my favorite characters, BTW) and the other focusing on Faith and Michael.


	25. The Patient Epilogue pt 2

__

Disclaimer: See the other chapters.

Title: Tool with 'The Patient'

A/N: I decided to change the focus of this, the final installment of 'A Question of Faith'. Guess I'll have to go back and revise that statement. ::grumble::

* * *

_For long eons it had waited, gathering its power for the day when it could finally set into motion its plans. World domination was too simple, the enslavement of the human race too boring. The simplicity of its desire was surprising as it was frightening. _

The end of the world.

* * *

Willow smiled slightly as she walked to the Magic Box, humming softly to herself. The slight chill in the air heralded the approaching winter, although it was mild compared to the winds in farther north. California was like that.

It hit her suddenly, a vision screamed in the language of magic. Images flashed through her mind's eye as she gasped, her body fighting for air. As sudden as the torrent had been, so was it's end. Willow's knees buckled and she crumpled to the pavement.

A few people walking by gave her a wide berth, unwilling to chance anything in a town with Sunnydale's reputation. She was only across the street from the Magic Box, however, and chance had Giles looking out the window at the moment of Willow's collapse. He was out the door and by her side in a moment, gently lifting her and taking her inside.

The words she spoke chilled his heart. It was Willow's lips moving, but it was not her voice. It dripped with evil and death.

"Prepare yourself, Watcher. I come."

Seconds later, Willow gasped and started shaking. Stark terror seemed to roll off of her in waves as Giles held her. Murmuring soft reassurances, he tried to offer her comfort that he himself desperately needed.

"What was it Willow?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know Giles, but it was so old, and so evil..."

* * *

Patrolling in Sunny-hell was definitely different now, with Spike keeping pace beside me. He still wore his duster, still smoked despite the fact that they were bad for him. _That _almost always brought up some sort of argument, usually one hell of a shouting match with Buffy.

Despite the yelling and occasional fists, we were doing well. We had made a promise to each other, and had always managed to pull it off. "Never go to bed angry." It's amazing how something that simple could work for us.

He looked different now, but only slightly. Skin that hadn't see the sun in over a century now boasted a light tan, and his unruly hair shifted slightly in the breezy. His ever present duster hung from shoulders that had filled out slightly in recent months, no longer restricted by the promise of eternity.

I love the way he smiles at me, as he's doing now. The mischief promised by his blue eyes, the love and loyalty, everything he is to me clearly shines in his eyes.

"Duck!"

His shout pierces my thoughts like an arrow even as I comply, my body suddenly pressed flat against the cool grass. The slight hiss of leather against steel, his low growl, and the sound of steel parting flesh tumble past my ears. It's over in a moment, and he's helping me to my feet.

A quick glance behind be shows the threat, now dealt with. A strange man with odd symbols carved into eyelids and lips sewn shut. So familiar...

"The Bringers of the First..." the words tumble past my lips as my mind races to recall information from my past. This can't be good.

* * *

Lieutenant James Luther, of Sunnydale Homicide, had seen it all during his five years serving in Sunnydale. Missing bodies, mysterious murders, odd MO's. Hell, the strange and 'unsolvable' was part of the reason he took this job in the first place. A nine year veteran of Chicago's dark underside didn't prepare him for what he found in this small California town.

His second year in Sunnydale had been like an awakening for James. The blinds had been drawn from his eyes, and he was finally able to see what was really happening. Vampires, zombies, werewolves. It sounded like a cheap fucking scare-flick, actually. Until he started doing his homework. Countless hours spent tracking down and then reading ancient tomes began to point him in the right direction. 

And now, in front of his desk, was a young man who could take him through the final door and into the true battle. Justice and law weren't top on his list, not anymore. The more abstract values of 'good' and 'evil' screamed just out of reach, begging him to join the fight. There were no questions of whether he was strong enough to make a difference, but it didn't matter to James. He had to try.

"So, Alexander," James said, assessing the young man as his left hand absentmindedly rubbed his chin. "You've finally come to see me about my offer?"

"Xander," the young man replied, fidgeting slightly in the stiff seat. "And yea, let's talk about that."

"I know what's going on in this town," James said quietly, leaning forward slightly. "And, for some reason, you've been involved in a great deal of it for years now. Mind telling me what it's about?"

"Can't do that," Xander answered quickly. "They're people I've gotta protect, y' know? Friends."

"I understand that," James said slowly. "And you still came here?"

"You're offer was to me. I figured, what the hell, let's listen to the copper." The slight smile on his face lessened the slight insult of his reply.

"Are you willing to join my special task force then?"

"Sounds good, but..."

"But what?"

"How can I trust you?"

"I guess you've hit that on the nose, Al... Xander. How can I trust you?"

Both men smiled coldly, both gazes met with the determination of steel. The moment of silence that followed was thick for both men.

"Tell you what," Xander said slowly. "If I betray you, you can try and kill me."

"That goes both ways, kid."

"Where do I sign? And not in blood, right?"

* * *

_The pieces are in place, and the game has begun. The advantage, for now, lies with me. I know what I must do, and what they can do to stop me. The Scythe is hidden from them, but for how long... The amulet that could decimate my forces is now useless to them. And one of the slayers is with child. The balance swings dangerously into the darkness, even with the death of a powerful servant of mine. But with each minion they destroy, a stronger one is tainted and turned from the light. Even as I set into motion the events that will open the Hellmouth, a new minion speeds into the fray, heralding death with a blade whose evil is kin to my own absolute darkness..._

The End of Days is near.

* * *

A/N: And that concludes 'A Question of Faith'. Thanks for those who read and reviewed. I've already started working on the sequel. I'll start posting soon, I promise.


End file.
